Sketches for Neptune’s Dream (Yesod’s Mouth)

I am the spell
Walking into form 
The structures built
From behind a curtain

Among figures clad in black catsuits
Conducting the squeals of 

Freshly painted wood on castor wheels

Here, I stand

In the dark

Draped and crowned,

Ready for my cue.

Anima forma corporis

I know as only animals do
the scent of you.
Not the sweet smelling soaps, expensive cologne, nor the freshly laundered clothes—
I remember none of those. 
I know only as animals do
the scent of you.

Bright and odiferous as the waning sun 

Played into a song 

By the orchestra of my senses;
Excited by a tune so rare and new 
So acutely did it learn each note;
Each wafting reign—highs and lows,
To the mid-tones

Of secrets told through the eyes alone—

I know as only animals do
the scent of you.
But how can it be true,
Separated by miles and years,
I did just now trace it passing through?

The Shake

Last night as I slept

The subtle tremors of the Earth
Reverberated between my ears;
Whispered vibrations.

Frequencies rippled

In the liquid of my body.

In the morning, I awoke; 

Adjusted the frames on the walls.

Without warning,
I've changed my mind.

The Messenger (A Knight Carries; A King Weighs; A Queen Cradles)

As a shadow to the sun.

I possess you.

Empty words fill the empty space.

A vision writhes in the primordial net.

Desire not yet form—
At least, not to flesh.

From the dream I awoke with a wound I could feel. One only ash and feathers could heal.

Still,

It is the heart’s intent.

Another mountain quest

Another Ark of the Covenant—treasure or vessel,

A locked vault. 

Wanted, sought.

Nested within 

An elegant chest.

reprosexuality

There is a secret door

my love hides
just behind the wet bar

beneath glistening glass bottles

of amaretto and rye
if you open it, you’ll find

a library with no walls

only windows

into shining black eyes 

of enormous yet graceful beasts

eons old, gliding through a deep blue sea.

when I speak to them in the silence,

they come to visit me

singing songs of how sad they are 

to be all-knowing

and so hungry for company.

Pyrolysis

Six flames
sent
to one name
folded quiet 

and tight

enveloped inside

stationery

unlined—

blank but for
the charred tips of 

used matchsticks
which wrote charcoal scripts
to be known by
only their recipient.

Feedback signal

Among the pretty
delicate things
put up high on shelves
to shimmer in the dark

it is known
no beauty is spared
the camera obscura;

the careful observer,

though blessed with 

omnipotent sight
its fragile-glass eye overlooks

the time-smoothed ridges 

of cast brass bronze 
ornate raised relief,
golden filigree leaves,
the rippled lips, 
and fire-licked folds 

of an object

aware of itself

reflecting a quivering flame

in an ancient mold.