Absolem, the Caterpillar

"So far, you are a very calming shade of light blue. A busy street in Brooklyn.  Driftwood ebbing in and out of the shoreline with the waves."  
If pain was all I knew, I'd be silent, because I love you.  
Crickets piercing stridulations across the veil, sound of vastness between flora and fauna, leaf and stamen, pulsing with the electric beat of life in an unfixed moment, ever vectored onward, this astral belt of permutable collisions.  
You tell me there is no God, even as bioelectricity arcs across neural ravines and a bath of light makes your outline visible in three of a thousand dimensions, your avatar pumping iron fire through the blue river veins in your marbled neck, a metropolis of cilia rising like a colossus, mouths pulling a nitrous oxygen bloom into their arms even as they collapse into ashes and form a halo about those rising from the clay to replace their ranks, drawn from the well of your next breath.  
There is a sleeping dragon in chrysalis of your every threaded atom and your eyes are telescoping lenses that wrap me round in this womb of void.  
Heart of curves and angles and sprayed side rail graffiti, channel your passions last gasp into radiance that lights the black soil that swallows you, sound of echoes between death and funeral, fall and impact, arise and rise again to this den of wild battering.  
If God is control, a carcinogenesis is written into our genetic code, a slow or swift winnowing of flesh, marrowing of bone, this knife of numbered seasons, unhalted by steel frameworks, by chariots and satellites flung about planetary gravity wells to snap pictures of the abyssal and send back its haunting, warbling languages, unhalted only, perhaps, by hope focused through a lens into a laser, these hollow fossils attest, mouths are parched miles of riverbed, aghast, agape, speechless, beneath a blanket of gnawing lye, tumbled together, tongueless, unceremonious matchsticks.  
Smoke rising from the hookah, djinn unshackled from the confines of its Klein bottle, pawing across the strewn gravel in a yawning vertex of headlights, sound of the magnetism between bow and cello, throat and loin, finger and palm.  
Hold this memory, a sliver of light beneath the crescent moon rising from your cuticle, a submerged continent in the salt sea of your heart.  
Let it warm you when you're insubstantial, three fingers down, tumblers stacked on the bar, blood thin as a ghost, let it buoy you when the world's brow draws down its merciless gears like a gun barrel.  
And if God is listening, a network of metallic fiberoptic satellites is orbiting this cored apple, sworn to such silence, we'll pass anything through their iris, dreams of sex intimacy, greets and bitcoins from Montana to Bangkok, assessed a ferryman's adamant toll by automatically parsed token, flagged keywords on queue, scything wheat chaff into cited logs, Horus' eye locked into a drone strike, sound of heavy metal Red Bull jackboots kicking an abscess through a door.  
Pain is a mirror, we must gaze, an aureole of stars, we must drink, winking river glass in a piscine steel current, sinuous muscles beating against weak fingers of passing planetary gravity like oars, dipping and spraying liquid light, sound of tarmac paving over a still open mouth.  
And if, instead, the God is love, I dream you to manifest here before me, in shy aching hellos, your child's hand has grown, and yet matured fingers wave the same stiff timidity, knucklebones yet couched into warm capillary, growing to frenetic temerity as your eyes adjust to this magician's heart, slow horizon breach a Cheshire smile, I am invisible here, except for that which you feel, now, and now, a shock of intimate wonder, somehow, we have crossed an impossible distance.  
We are wind borne petals amidst a color strewn endless beyond, amidst a supernova sparkplug stretching for a single breath, arms of cosmic yaw, dotted by gardens of accreted ore, limbs aligned in tantric poise.  
Don't let the ground lights deprive you of such splendor.  
And if the God is love, your childhood is pulled anew in squalling blood from your own body, with chubby limbs and banshee horsepower lungs, capable only of need you fulfill with desperate devotions, and our slow withering arrives somehow in ashen stillness that is the ultimate and only peace, this zero plane singularity, slumber untrammeled by a curtain of electric dreams.  
A word is a fingerprint, time pools in its ink caldera before its hollow shores are lashed by tidal force of another perspective's calculus, my darling girl.  
Sound of bone in sheath, mercury boiling through the hourglass, sound of Thoth scratching a thumbnail against an emerald.  
This and a thousand thousand closed doors slammed in your path for you to batter down til your knuckles burst and muscles swell with a fury of burnished angels, nose dive breaking atmo in a searing skein of bronze.  
When I shed this cocoon, perhaps I'll be a sun to warm yours, or perhaps a firefly, whose purring mote will lend a metric of the miraculous to a single moment of your life.  
She coughs and waves absently at the smoke, fingers reordering constellations by will, mouth turned slightly on its axis in mild annoyance, her eyes are ancient wells of solemn gravity, sparking from a raw rebirth, like acidic lungs emerging from the depths.  
She turns and departs, footprints growing and shrinking at intervals, like watching a memory rise through the mind of the earth.  
Distant lightning arcs a heraldic clangor before her, drawing her shadow in long blue white profile, all that was and will be, swathed as I am, in this spectral company, in magician's obscura.  
She is what's real. True physics in her stride. All is as it must be.  
Sound of porcelain rattling in a ground tremor, geyser pouring a shimmering mineral mist into a stark basin, sound of fingers clacking away somewhere between no thought and everything singing at once.  
Fairfarren, Alice.  
And if pain was all I knew, before I met you, before you held me rapt within your rising aurora, I'd tell you everything I've found in this star ocean, halos ringing in soft ambience about spheres, silent world engines rotating upon a levitating axis, totem avatars rising through fang, web and wing, to reach an apex, only to reach back into source vibration, compass points stretching their spaded daggers, ebbing toward a vast armada of uncharted cartography, infinite moths dancing a ragged ecstasy about a coronal flame.  
I would tell you, I am the fire elemental, and I give all that I have seen and known, because I love you.  
Sound of falling water, quavering through air currents in ever widening dimensional circumference, sound of amber seeping golden, green heart's inner light beneath a resin skin, migrating down a brackish trunk, sound of bird song ripping through the umbra in burst staccato.  
And if pain was all I knew, I'd fall into a trance of silence and listen to you.  
Absolem, the Caterpillar  
The Fire Elemental
Written by DanielChristensen (The Fire Elemental)
Author's Note
Inspired by special people in my life.

"I thought of your beauty, and this arrow, Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow."
The Arrow W.B. Yeats

Copyright © 2023 by Daniel Christensen. All rights reserved.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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