2/23/14

but the obsession was, ultimately, self-obsession
            however well projected
            onto those luminescent orbs

and, one might say poetically,
            he rose like the lightning
swift, erratic
            but not so fast as he fell
            scorching the earth with his passing
past permafrost
past living and unliving waters
into faerie lands
            where his Mother welcomed him home

far away someone dances to that twinkling light
            jade irises glitter

a dog hides beneath the covers

in the West
            there is rain

dozens of words
            in order

someone recognized him on the street
or claimed to do so
the streets are broad and empty at night
save for the companion lamplight
            and the star fighting through to this pluvial valley
three times calling
            three times receiving no answer

are you there? are you there? are you there?

the dream voice again
            the voice of self-obsession
of luminescent orbs

o chains
thrown off