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.-+”( Entry to Atlantii

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  • .-+”( Entry to Atlantii


    In memory of Anne Brontë

    a mere shadow she is;
    the darling days decked with rays
    subtle and beautiful pierced
    the worthy challenge to deign
    imposition upon imposition:
    and then your own trundling stairways.

    from amoeba unto meiosis flesh
    blessed thrice infinitely dead
    as stars to lightning arcing together
    bring forth torrential rains in the dark
    and the pitter patter ever after:
    for the por of its own gleaming
    and the ore of fiery veins to burn it all away.

    she has her own reasonings today,
    from her gait and jollity
    to the way she silently hangs
    and curls in the mirror of her bangs
    and silkenly moves through the way
    as shadows brush her every touch
    and she pulls them all into one.

    her days, lost inside the sphere’s maze
    more than ample time to confuse
    the beseeching silence of her prayers
    made today and hungered thereafterward:
    Stay! your own piercing bouquet arranged.
    Your own guiltless reproach to feign,
    To deign once again and complain. But then,
    I’m lost inside the only thing I’ve left.

    Your words have left me stranded now.
    Your silence is hungrier now than ever before.
    You haven’t reached up quite that far,
    And your own diamonds are now gone forever.
    What then?– To blush in the mine,
    And find within your little grasp
    A solitary path unto the glittering heart:
    And there, to start to pick apart
    And wonder and imagine. Would you forget?
    Would you forget? If you knew my own mistakes.
    Would you forgive? If you made it all right
    With your one single sentence? Just one word
    More than any three. Would you lie? Tell the truth?

    Afraid, all we can do is hope. And then,
    In the dark trap of our fate we’ve coaxed
    Half the miles beneath our soles,
    Filled with the ghost of the sand’s own strength
    To sit there and grind me away
    Endlessly against its neverending bed.
    What a fairy’s own light might bequeath
    And her own fire keep. Keeper of the South,
    Made of the most subtle love.

    Keeper of the South made of blood,
    What might it do now that you’ve found
    A silent second for yourself?…
    A way to find your other half.
    A now to share and get lost in.
    Once more, your blazing dream!
    Once more, your silent train unfurling.
    How do you move so rightly then?
    And how do you make it all change?

    That love inside you didn’t ever change.
    That love inside you isn’t gone away.
    That the land you own is ‘neath our feet
    And the skies as isles of blue are so softly paved
    While you strain your eyes against the mountainside.
    While you break away against the flint.
    Engulfed because your undead love has burned
    And dead because you can’t come back.
    Where your silent weapons break
    You follow yourself into the night.

    In the well of the Ara,
    you follow the traces which have lived
    and the places which still have life
    Down the wending lanes aghast
    Where fleeing rains have us caught
    And earth quakes in our heart
    And life and light so sizzle and pry
    Where echoing ghosts reply.
    And the bearings are all greased.
    And the broken crescendo sleeps.

    Some manufactured silence to reprieve
    And then get tired from it all to sleep again.

    Some utterly beautiful conclusion
    Which to us seems like it’s not chosen. …

    But then, who am I to choose
    And then forever to be kept?
    Because I’ve always wished I was?
    Or who is it that does decide?
    Living in a dream we share, I do.
    Made up my best for you, I do.
    Living like I always will, the same.
    I love. I love because I am that one
    Tied to every insistence and begging
    And lying and crying … crying.
    My face is the same, my voice might change
    But the night’s own keep must stay
    In a system of your infinite embrace:
    The commandment hasn’t any right to change
    An ‘itself’ which would ever force its way.

    And beyond the nothing of ‘you are’
    I am more than convinced now
    You love. You have. You will. You do, too.
    To find that subtle tunnel into you.
    And love’s parished castle come forthrightly flagged
    And darkened unto pleasant coldness
    Glittering amidst the lostness and vagueness
    The diamond’s.

    O but my eyes might not, and they catch
    Also these sun streaming rays
    Exhausting not my own fancies; to play,
    And play so well I might forget you
    And be so much obliged as to return
    And bearing roses fresh with fiery dew:
    Playing with your mind, the clues.
    Streaming forth from your vaguest guess
    Streaming forth from your landmines
    Making up for lost time. Ticking perfectly!

    How your beautiful love is a joy!
    Your own sunsets and wanderings meet
    And center upon your shadow’s curves.
    They sit inside the fire’s heart
    They sit and they do not budge.
    How the little ribbons of fire touch.
    And how the blandishments could.
    By every little rivet you might set,
    And every solid armor fed. Give, tonight.
    Give tonight. And you won’t?
    But I would. I just would…

    Because, blind as I have been, I love,
    And by loving I hear your song
    And that is why I ever sang,
    And that is what I’ve always heard.
    How love’s tuned emptiness steers,
    How your breaking lens has wronged.
    But then I forgive; I have to forgive.
    And we are slaked to sink, ourselves!

    To wait until we’re lost amidst
    The remains of a mystery
    To wait until we’re the only ones
    Who’ve kept the holy thing alive!
    The really real love. So we can breathe.

    .-+”( Of the dark amber magick

    But if it wasn’t your one single star
    Falling further than anyone’s,
    Or if it were the one lone word yours
    To only make the night the same
    And sing to other heartbreaks more.
    But only if you can know it true,
    And by being true know that much more.

    By every little rhyme, the soft blues
    Pealing from your ageless soul
    As the many lands of silver gleam
    Like gates that stand for your lost teeth
    And the crying children never leaving
    And leaving all the windows open–
    But then the door. And you just watch,
    Little by little, it’s all too much.

    I actually ruin the world with ‘Thought’.
    I actually train myself to forget.
    I actually follow the tail of this fire
    That leads me into the terrible being:
    My true love, gutted. Shall I tell you?
    But then, to know you. But then, no.
    You only have this sudden love because.
    You only, the sole heir to any house.
    A capable being and entity.

    What have you lost? You get
    More daylight and a widening horizon
    And the mystery of music playing
    And the endlessness turning golden
    Upon the mountain after the day
    And the light has turned a pinkish red
    And you’re cold from out so long
    And you’re going in too soon.

    So the foci shines upon you,
    Then I am lost inside the dome,
    And made of what you took
    From all these heavy afternoons
    And all those endless moons
    Orbiting around my being.
    Hungry from knowing loss
    And knowing the true longing
    Day by day to actually suffer
    Yet. Even after the posited fix.

    The way you couldn’t but did;
    The reasons for your ascent,
    And the ways you’ve fallen down
    More than once for this old love,
    To be put inside the chains
    And blinded by the darkness
    And made of nothing else
    But distance that we find.

    I am the lone elk and I’ve been crying
    For as long as these leaves that fall
    And I have made the woods greater
    Posing my own empty fortress still
    More death there than any pit and yet
    All of us go, obviously, down in the dark.
    Foe of yours I am, but only yours,
    And have I hit the center yet?– Love.

    But to have taken your last shot
    And that was your mercy kill:
    The bullseye you so obviously stole
    And watched the little thing fall,
    Breath by breath, like we all fall.
    Its own life much more than yours,
    You watched. And you watch.
    Except, not these words of yours
    But the sound of the rain.

    Except, not yet, not yet you say.
    And my broken heart in shards
    Complies in broken blind light links
    While the story of our children is told.
    And I listen from which room
    Only I know now. And the world grows
    So entirely heavy beneath my fingertip.
    And I can’t imagine anything else,
    My heavy missives now set down.

    So yet there is that deer, a green soul.
    O how you might hunt me forever,
    Gentle warrior that we’ve understood,–
    And watch me fall for you, for you, again.
    Though you might think it dies burning,
    And never walks again. The truth tells
    Much else about what might come.
    A world of the living trysts undone.
    A world of complete and utter devastation.

    A shadow like you thrown upon the thing,
    As I watch and it’s consumed,
    Ripped from tip of nose to tailbone.
    Watching a little thing killed for me.
    In spilling its violet blood, in drinking,
    And from its meat an entire feast? But no!–
    How would we eat? Otherwise?–
    My table is full of this endless feast anyway
    Let alone the tears that line the tablecloths.
    My table is the table I made for us.
    But not the one I thought it would become.
    The madness has taken that all,
    And the little spirit inside the bones
    Feeling life and making its sense has taken
    All of my will and power and life
    And breathed again. And made sense for me.

    All of the world is awakened again
    And the silence rings out.
    And the meaning is loud.
    And the words that we hear are so clear
    And spoken so well. Watching out,
    See how. This late midnight tryst,
    Having you only to take with me all night.
    What shall I do? Do we die,
    Turning in the burning leaves
    As we catch ourselves in slo-mo collapse?
    While we peter about our defenses
    And cast aspersions instead of our learnings?–
    But we thought we knew better!…

    This much I know of your little hunt,
    Made of vixen eyes and redhot lips…
    Pucker up before your chosen ones!
    You burn against the polaroid
    In a smiling pyre of some victim.
    You end up evidence in a pile, and then
    I end up having to close my eyes
    And shut them deeper than you do.
    Until I end up showing us both
    That when I blink you do too.
    And it’s so much to do anymore.
    And it’s like picking up a bible.

    But then O repartee, tell me how.
    How do you move me in your shades
    To the tresses that wave unless I am gone
    And gone beyond ashes when you’re dead?
    What do you mean I cannot see
    The slow delivery of my own demise
    And I am sold in no book. And I
    Cannot even be the one you find.
    So what might then you say, should I
    Say I open my other eyes?– Die!

    Death, that you could, or that you did;
    Death dying beneath your wings
    And endlessly being eaten?– Death the phantom,
    To watch its own regret eat
    And as it’s torn from limb to limb, beat
    Like the sullen heart in ink
    Stained by others’ finger’s touch.
    Moved by others without love.
    My touchstone, God, anyone. You laugh.
    You laugh until the book gets its teeth
    And the moveless becomes moved.
    You laugh until the scarlet moon
    Pierces with its grey darling concrete
    Looking for you. Every window.
    And then the blush of love’s conceit
    To watch you have to eat
    That smiling thing set there before me.
    I don’t know why. Why does it hurt?
    Hurt like it always has? There’s no excuse.

    And I watch as the skies keep this.
    I watch as the sunburns happen sometimes
    And sometimes too much. My skin
    A flame of its own little paling, has
    Shaken and made its own egg.
    And filled with its insides gave birth.
    And inside every leaf and twig got green
    And made for the hills of our town.
    And threatened just to burst
    From the weight of silence in our touch.
    And it told us what it did,
    And who it was, and we knew by what we were.
    Love, Its own.

    I’ve seen you take both my weakened hands
    And throw yourself against my cross
    And you buried yourself there like a mountain
    Like so many mountains, like a palace.
    You started to so hotly hug your bloody sky,
    And looking up you could not answer me.
    I was looking for the truth and no crime.
    I was looking for love I never lost to stay.
    So who’s whose? And what gives?
    My time isn’t timeless.

    But then like your squeezing and my contractions
    I have left myself there without recall
    And after every moment embracing
    And expecting more the fall
    I have finally fallen. And my mind
    Rotting in the leaves is absorbed
    And the trees can only hear
    The slow leaking of my blood
    That so near only you could be stained
    You could not hear and never knew
    You watched me take that little inch
    And then somehow now you own it.

    I can’t believe my eyes, you say.
    I can’t believe how hurt … how hurt like this.
    Each child blinks and thereby wonders,
    Each little moment framed in amber.
    But the flames? The flames?
    Won’t you ever burn? You said, sacrifice.
    You said, the better ones. And then left me.
    I watched as you tried to hurt me for
    Being able to say that I couldn’t leave
    And I am left in hundreds of rooms
    For countless hours with no one else
    And only my suffering and loss.
    And no one else. And now I am.
    Beyond all doubt and pain and stress.

    I am the more real thing doomed.
    The dying little flame they shame.
    The sharing and the cupping.
    Watch them, sipping, watch them,
    Tipping through these fields, ours,
    Breaking open our discretion
    Indiscriminately, beating us compulsively.
    Watch the corruption stemmed
    Only by your thickening blood,
    And the blueness in your eyes cloud
    As you try to further move,
    And my hands could not care more
    To barely be there when you went
    And took that step towards us
    Close enough to betray, and closer.

    Crowded together without a light
    I wasn’t made just to stifle myself!
    I remember how when we all could see
    The morning turning bronze
    And the afternoons twinkling bright when
    You could remember me the way
    I have always been, being the one
    I have always been. Behind my smile,
    Much less now, I reconsidered.
    Behind my smile now the grey comes over
    And I start to see your phantom
    That refuses collapse just laugh forever
    Your phantom in amber beguiling me
    O intelligent one without any clues
    O clubber of the better and best
    O liar from between your very teeth
    The truth is much more vicious.
    From all that you’ve done it’s gone anyway.
    From all that we lost it’s time, baby.
    So now no reason to just forget,
    As we’re pushed like mere buttons
    O this our great and grand
    Classic style psychology.
    Grandly living.

    If that’s the only staying power I have
    But to fall like the leaves every season
    And from the hanging to the having to hang
    A vaunted you I’ve known to become,
    But to you, with nothing more given? –Nothing left, I am?–

    This love song leans across forever
    In its frightful truth given enough time
    Left alone for it to get so close.
    Made for you to take it slow
    And murder your portrait but then
    Hunt down your silent refuge
    And hang your good knowing
    With the saddest bunch of witches
    Who won’t be left burning.
    As the cackles in the cauldron click
    Against the lantern that drifts
    And the sounds of hollow bone hit
    And make of midnight my delight.

    My sole delight. Like love’s own, stained,
    Story to us all and testament,
    Unbeaten I stand the one and only
    The standing and the stayed. I power
    But only by a slow and subtle moving
    As effacing through the weeks,
    I have gone. And slowly, over me
    And through me, going and gone,
    To disappear into the silence of dawn
    And watch you pick the daydaisy therefrom.
    And watch you eat them all,
    “Little daisy I’ve never been a rose.”
    But your daisy is what dies and decays
    And what lives ever after beyond evidence.
    Your daisy is that love we prefigured
    And that which slowly became; the perfect
    Beauty of your wonderful, filled.
    …But you’re gutted from the insides now.

    So slowly then you are Transfigured.

    “Like the sun’s rays that blind the night’s wild beasts
    The sword of song shines as the swordsman sings”

    Algernon Charles Swinburne