This Is The Silence That Strikes As A Dagger Falls
my skull feels clustered
with the deadwood
Raising a lightning-soaked hand
to my eyes I am suddenly buried
by the approaching rumble
of a swaggering summer storm.
into the midnight mist
the trees look like logs
carved from clouds
of interstellar gas.
Gazing upwards into
the blurred atmosphere
my star-drunk thoughts gallop
through the expansive and opaque landscape
as my legs shiver and contract
as if yearning to outrun
the turbulent shell of sky
that encircles us all.
In the frenzied flutter
poignant flashes of thunderclouds
tilt the stained-glass revolver of my mind upwards
to marvel at the melting moonstone above
which looks so bioluminescent,
like a thousand year old Honey Fungus
leaping the eight light seconds of distance
by sliding down the ubiquitous root system
of expanding space-time.
As my cheeks overflow
with tears from the sky
I pierce the livid sapphire ceiling
with the pain from my eyes,
recalling how we once huddled together
in the explosive arms of night,
unafraid to bask in the eternal swerve and sway;
content to marry our wounds to the phase-shifting sky
as we attempted to untangle evolutionís straitjacket of consciousness,
one thread of free will at a time.
It was then that an asteroid field of gray light crashed into our eyes,
injecting our mirrored gaze with such tender momentum
that soon we ripped into the heaving skies like a pair of wiry hands,
slowly unfurling an underlying layer of painted canvas
that resplendently filled us with the irrepressible buoyancy
of a blazing dawn sky.
As time stumbled to a halt,
the fabric of the cosmos
became gilded into the handle
drained in oily whirls
into my emotional center.
And into the porous medium
of your receptive mouth
I planted an orchard
of fruiting desire.