Friday, August 19, 2011

Breathing In Exile

In isolation these whispers vanish cold and withdrawn. Courting the absence of clear crystalline vapors. Breathing in exile downs despair like tonic remedies - soothing temporarily wounds that rarely find permanent remedy. Could be chased down so carelessly as to do damage to this delicate process - thereby negating the very consequent so sought after; driving tectonic travesty, sensationalizing, trivializing and turning cliche what isn't already cheap. No, it lies in isolation - not in the replicating of loneliness. Although these are often hand-maidens. For such a drought has a bitterness - provides for ill effects; finds mystery in Bachian revels; would very much like to avoid that. Yet there is nuance and subtlety in how to differentiate what provides the cathartic release, because there is temptation to confuse Dionysus with Loki. It isn't that it's elusive, it's just vanishing from the zeitgeist. It sets out on noble errands but becomes forgetful as though drifting from landscape into dream-scape. Therein lies the greatest danger. For this isolation once invoked is relentless and continues to stalk long after the dream has subsided and sunlit hours return. Once invoked it waits silently in potential nightfall and whispers irresistible visions. For to flee is a half-loneliness and to heed is to wait in that fire; gifted with that unbearable and dreadful purposefulness.

~Michael Salonius, The nineteenth of August, 2011

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Maniacal And The Moon Conspiracy

I am the Moon made maniacal.
I am the transient Verb.
I severed the Rooster's head
and made the dance through
the song-beak and foretold: Fire!

It ate at the bones for
so long now we became
familiar with its maw.
It sickened the lilies on
the river banks but
until May's month warms
Summer's festivals it plucks
in Desire's lusty myrrh dripping pouch.

Wrapped it around and so
hundreds of fiery ancestors dance
of maddening thickets on cluster
filled boughs - dozens ate delighted
Oh so stated - fattened on
blisters rubbed so deliciously raw.

Thrash it sticky and rip about tooth.
Desire knows its handler's whip.
Froth silence teases bear-claw traps
determines terror's aspect sinew asunder
found ancient splash anew to
this
brightly
lit
end.