February 8, 2007 at 4:13pm (Poetry)

All things reverence silence.

Needle silence. Thread silence.

Paper, scissors, book silence.

Pages in a book.

(And a penny for your eyes.)

All things, all manner of things.

Homunculus. Jinn and bottle.

The secret places of the stairs.

All things,

all manner of things

worship silence.

The closing hand,

the cradle rocking;

all in silence

move in silence

toward the silence.


* * * *

These poems,

you see, are meaningless,

on purpose.

I try to mystify

myself from someplace deeper

than myself.

From someplace

where the Keeper of the Bees

keeps rust-encrusted keys

for rust-encrusted locks;

and faceless clocks

toll the Litany of Hours

nightly on Bald Mountain

where the Sun and Moon,

bedecked with flowers,

copulate in a certain fountain

fed with water from the ocean

pumped by pipes that pump the ocean

in a circular motion.

(And we are all, all moving to that motion.)

like a snake

spinning in a circular motion,

devouring its tail in a circular motion

around the Christos at the center

of the circle,



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