The Song of the CrowPrelude - The ForgettingThe Song of the Crow by brassteeth
Out here, far away from our origins, where the stars beat their drums of light across the clear blackness, here in the outer regions of things, where the world pushes into new found spaces, leaving behind unexplained traces of wonder, out here matter vibrates and thickens. Here, the taught web of magic stretches and the miracle of Being becomes thin, so thin its almost invisible to us. Almost.
Out here, we forget ourselves.
Inside the noise of the world, we forget that we stood together in different forms at the endless beginning. We lose track of the tiny changes that eons and ages have brought, the minute alterations that infinite orbits have sought. All the endless atoms we are, the molecules that build us and then quickly fall apart, written and posted letters of change. All of this weight, this carbon slated universe, it fogs out our history, mists the memories of our minds.
We have dropped veils across our eyes like confused sai
After TuesdayElizabeth,After Tuesday by brassteeth
I will not live like this anymore.
There's a small Universe to the West,
that sits idle in Autumn,
I will be there.
Hinged on all sides,
by suicide maples
that fall from the trees like droplets of blood,
and that old Raven
(the blackbird that taught us Canasta
on the lawns by Cedars Lodge,)
he hovers quietly above me there, in the azure sky
like a guardian,
and those two shining moons Elizabeth,
the ones we happened upon
through the windowpanes,
between our screams and shouts last Tuesday night,
in this Universe, those moons weep misty vanillas
across a falling horizon and I am free,
yes, I will be there, in the West.
And when I am there, Elizabeth,
you cannot hurt me.
Current Residence: from desert to desert, currently New Mexico|
Favourite photographer: i like hands.
Favourite style of art: unpredictable
Operating System: I lie here and there.
Shell of choice: armor
Mode of transportation: dancing
Personal Quote: The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes. ~Andre Gide