Braiders In A Fugue
Sic transit gloria mundi
how doth the busy bee,
Dum vivimus vivamus
I stay mine enemy! Emily Dickinson
fall in– fall out–
divinely childish whisperings
listen to this language–
this love language of the world,
its bickerings.
bougainville shakes,
conflagration its blisterings
confuse divided states
beat a strange and bitter drum
of Saint Valentine heartbreaks,
turn and face this wilderness
planting aloes fast,
all a glistening
under a new star of numbers.
….this too shall pass,
fall in– fall out–
right or wrongly,
choose them.
do you have a choice?
look into your own bosom,
dance the dance and pause–
alone, alt and rogue
where the atomic clock ticks
linear, vague but vogue,
lonesome, closer to midnight
in this land of fire and ice; click!
turn to the sound of frost cracking…
slippery footing of crystally silence, calls me.
if this is the language, this is my country!
Sic transit gloria mundi!
oh frustration!
how dare they,
how dare they predict
our proximity to annihilation!
drilling into the volcano’s heart
what renders?
this smell, a hint afloat
on cold air puffins monkey
geographically isolated
under stars, up there!
fresh cosmogenic splendor,
radiance of the firmament–
chewy antares fennel with pear,
soothing temperaments
sizzle fish, lamb, and burnt wine.
if humans die off earth regreens
in double time.
no one to watch, how doth the busy bee
and all insects go extinct?
the whole world collapses!
if this is the language, this country is mine!
Dum vivimus vivamus,
come into this new state of being.
fingers running the sharp edge
of a calabi manifold,
beyond fear and doomsday
is where it unfolds,
fire slicing a thinly paper cut.
two to dance, two to pause–
this rusty dance,
a few wise tzimtzum or bust.
two to dance, two to pause–
frozen, gam zeh ya’avor!
...this too shall pass,
take a stand, take a stand,
keep in mind... know thyself;
the proper study of mankind is man.
once rough then tender,
contracting vacant space,
ice on geothermal fire renders.
below all you behold,
the place–
though it appears without it is within.
rewrite time to know the circular,
dizziness, in niz bogzarad!
...this too shall pass,
this place remains concealed,
this realm of the ohr,
this sweet theophany,
this sweet trinity of one
without mortal guise...
who goes down beyond the north wind
of hyperborea to realize,
who goes down to open gates?
the transcendent and imminent.
veni vidi vici conquer caput,
fueled by time’s illusion,
rewire the neurons.
follow screaming wait for me
walking in the woods a boring,
turn to the sound of nature snoring.
if this is the language, this is my country!
braiders in a fugue circle the cube.
self-referencing fractals
braving the dangers,
snowflakes of a blocks world
where cognition emerges,
the ancients of days marked this off.
look inside your own bosom!
turn to the fire popping to blazing roar,
boundaries spinning in a simple plait,
two to pause, two to dance
this rusty dance, an old song.
að líta í sinn eigin barm-
...this too shall pass,
braiders in a fugue circle the cube.
look inside your own bosom!
what is this poem under the skull?
oh human–
turn to the ocean’s rattling breath,
turn to the steady crepitation of this waterfall.
steady the wrath,
mesmerized global grasshoppers,
stunned before the alpenglow,
touch this electric fire in the sky.
quiet static auroras flow.
braiders in a fugue circle the cube.
i stay mine enemy, die before you die.
if this is the language, this is my country!
