Feathered Serpent
I use to be attached to myself like everyone else
That’s the way of this worlds masked delusions
Insatiable hunger of skeletons living above our body
Far from the green bones of the mother
I am beholden to the spirits of the primordial deep
A bear of hidden soul mending urges
A stag reflecting on the beauty of long sounding desire
Coyotes quivering energy on the living room floor
Often I am the human story of combustion
Exhaust fumes of primal murmurings
Until we begin tracking the masked dawn
Learning how to burn and not be consumed
Be consumed but not burn
My incantations are somewhere in a book now
Or in a swaying pine
They sing to themselves when one listens
Riding the currents of the earth needs
The underworld time deposits and erratic platelets
I am a feathered serpent that hears the still waters
Of your glass continent shifting
Ink of your soul leaking out
Along a thin line of thought
Forest paper that has disappeared
Whittled down to threadbare reflection
Walking through the mirror of the thousand selves
The conditioned gravity of infinite thoughts
Wield and yield their shadows and potent dragons
From the brine of the wound
To the coast of meditation
Tributaries of amnesia always hitting the bluff
Forced to tumble around
Become more distant
Spreading seafloor
Until nothing
A snow shelled tree
An impassable swamp
To the other side of us
That knows the sacred contract
Of bridging realities
You cannot see the beginning or end of it all
It could be a period at the end of a sentence
Ask how will you close the book
Without giving over to the ghost
Of vanishing perception
Part of us slowly disintegrates
Every time we elude our mirror
The seismic stanza breaks
Worn to the spine of artifice
The wind breathes and the wind speaks to itself
The listening weathered leaf propels the period
Of the minute insect across this telluric poem
The story keeps moving without success
Without complaint without being seen
The deity’s breath
In the cave of your being
Dripping its primordial sap
Into the vein of the last season
I built a hut for the deep sanctum of silence
Shared nest building heals the divide between us
I live inside the eyes of a serpent winding
Along the earth’s long steady road
Teeming spirits in unfiltered senses
Animal tracks tracking the mountain dolmens voice
Leading to places we all should know
As bat I deliver flowers to a dead friend
Get up the hill I shout into the creaking dark pines
Their charcoal blues of perforated dreams
Flit from branch to branch tiers
Spirit clouds shape the moon shadows
I walk through their feeling dimensions
Ant carries it all on its back
I step reverent carefully
Over frost and broken sticks
Shedding my skin in a wave just right until death
Everywhere can feel like home
In the worlds hypnotic mist pools
Until divergent tropes move into memory
Tapping nuances of the holy
The mind can get to talking all syllables at once
Wild courts of the underground attend and heed
Voices from the crystal air keep gathering
My small hand by Quetzalcoatl’s vast eyes
Her feathers would like to be stroked
By my needs of beauty bonding
The way I feed my feathered serpent
Helps me beyond my personal design
Keeps me out of the zoo of individuals
With my own wings growing I can see
The avian eyes of rose colored moons
Moving through the myriad worlds
Each blink is a new life we’ve been waiting for
We use to have bird hands like yours
A dorsal surface for the most sensitive currents
We use to have subterranean tails for the vibrating terrain
Fins on our voices to navigate the divine terrestrial lair
Maybe we still have the craft
To change the worlds darkening tide
From the inside out
Exhales of everything I have done
With so little left over
And everything just begun
