Metamorphosis

 

Stone must beget blood law

Bacchus insists

Thisbe is to blame for the mulberry

extraction of the lynx chariot pleasing the maiden

voyage to India, digging for pearls in the Ganges

 

Sea must beget blood law upon estuaries

so many metamorphoses happen on the shorelines

earth tides indicated by the nature of the lion

galactic tides by the nature of the fox

long as the hearth has heat, it never ceases work

Rebirth

 

On the 28^th measure

On the 1^st of deer month

On the 28^th sharp-horned crescent

in the orange period

There began a decomposition

There is attraction

The flesh has fled hours ago

The year of the bone has not begun

Soul of sun escaping

Soul of sun dispersing

Attraction will build mass

Mass accepted the priestess

Soul undone unravel undone

Soul travels pastways identically

not so the mirror image distorts

On the 28^th sharp-horned crescent

The first of rains rot the rope month

A collision A dance A masquerade

the soul spirit remade into frenzied charges

The south soul breathes slow

Now the soul pressed through the fabric

            choices are raw

            cuts are raw

            bled through

            mend through

mass has grown

Mass takes on mass

Pressed through the skin

Housed wombwards

An individual reformed

 

 

Dead Man’s Gulch

 

landscape held no symmetry to avoid judgment

dead man’s gulch precise and to the point

            echoes sentiment without repeating itself

updraft ticks between debris without sympathy

surface tense past what current equilibrium balances

 

 

Measure

 

Too soon you shot the snare drum

takes eons for us to notice

more than centuries until we can play along

space junk making more space junk

 

Feel my flux capacity sand turned glass

upwards at last one focuses on breathing

bleeding through the fabric comes minute pin

prick of present past present future unawares

opposing forces maintain a tight ball of evening warmth

 

Poems written in transit time between moments

remember moments remember when

moments never come but always go

 

 

Purpose

 

It took a physicist to confirm I was made by stardust

I mean I’d always known I housed the cosmos

but I couldn’t be sure until I passed through

18 eons of church, some time in Florence

a couple of dune books and a smattering of cosmology

It’s as if I have my own event horizon

My own dark halo point of no return

and all this knowledge of living keep feeding the white hole of rabbit fame

man, it’s great to be a high-tuned preceptor

I can see the strands I have a corner view of the past

heavy schematics where I dangle

(something I’m afraid only Baron Munchhausen understands)

These claims seem ridiculous but it’s the life I lead

I’ve chosen magic and nebulae and radiance

 

 

Tense

 

Time change does not exist

Tense is a persistent illusion

Break free from earthbound trains

all is now with passengers chasing red shift

chased by blue shift

observers are none the wiser

dilate time’s good eye and space contracts

cataracts contact connect the stars

It’s not like color isn’t presented with choices

Green is not held to atomic standards

unlike the policing of time ticks

Tonight I leave to arrive yesterday

the observer leaves the light on regardless

there is a lake in Maine that travels as fast as I can

inhale the rain retraction

As I child I slept in light speed

but now I am forced to recognize a lack of magic

that I don’t believe anyway

 

© Jessica Fiorini