There is a place i go into the world of shadow,
in the deeper darkness within the darkness,
where the gods stoop down low to peer at me from their secret houses in the heart's inner sky.
i feel the tremors in my bones and i begin to shake with the echoes of my mighty ancestors,
their voices sounding through the ages, beckoning me to open the hidden door deep inside,
a diamond that opens like a flower, blooming
while its tendrils kiss the darkness.
Only a fool unlocks the gate that opens beyond even the stars unseen.
And in this moment i witness my terrible gods, and their eyes pierce me utterly.
They are as great birds, fiercely crying to me in the language of ecstasy and madness,
their eyes like wheels of fire, spinning pinwheels of laughter and awfulness,
and i am tested to bear this
harrowing embrace, like standing in the midst of a whirlwind.
And i know that to them i am but prey.
And i know that if i were to resist, i would be torn apart.
It is in this moment every part of me screams into stillness. And I plead with them,
"i am but a little bird,
and cannot fly so high.
If you would but eat me,
i would be lifted on your great wings
and soar into the sky."
i dream of a burning star, an ember held between black eternal lips,
who whispers my name.
All else incinerated by this heated kiss, my bones, scorched, crack open
and molten marrow, like gold, pours into the illumined cup.
Now set to stand, the surface of myself is like a smooth black glass,
no longer enslaved to sleep,
a mirror polished for their terrible reflecting.
And deeper the kiss continues, a forked tongue probing, or
like the fingertips of eager lovers, which deftly reach into my spirit where they caress mysteries
like soft bee tongues over stamens, turning my blood to honey; my veins warm with nectar, my sweat drips
onto my lips and the tormenting sweetness is all i can taste.
Beneath the veil, vision is a lookingglass folded upon itself endlessly --
quicksilver and moonlight radiates from altered eyes, a beacon for more brightly
burnished shards, a phosphorian cadence that carries the wary into the delves of the spaceless cave like
wisps of clever smoke from the guiding torchlight, rasps of shared breath.
And then the deep plunge, the hallowed shriek.
God is a cock and it rips me open. i yearn and gasp to take in more, yet shudder with completeness.
i throb with its lust beneath my petals,
turning inside-out, a fruit ripening. i struggle only for a half-thought to keep from unraveling,
so much terror that i will be swept away in the torrent of honeyblood, lost forever.
Their wisdom is that there is no returning, least not unchanged. And there is no turning back,
as I have crossed the event horizon of myself. So i let go and fall.
i melt into its spiritflesh, and know the pummeling will only cease
when I erupt into the ocean of milk, spread out like a wave of pleasure
across the whole world, opening a circuit of desire for the world's own spilling and erupting,
the exchange a serpent biting its own tail.
It is a tangle of serpents in the great deep,
a pressured mass waiting for the divine moment --
the twining of flesh and spirit, blood and numen, my bones and the bones of time weaving together
like a skeletal tree that reaches across the unending void.
i am criss-crossing space just as my bones are etched criss-cross
by the talons of my ferocious gods, marked, so that i am more brightly seen from their vantage,
the bull's eye for their thunderbolts, hands for their doing of world and the undoing of myself.
When the divine moment passes, sadness oozes over my flesh like fresh cum, all the waters inside receding:
i am but
one
thing
again.
There are crystal strings stretched
from my soul into their starry green wildness. When they call,
their thunderous beckoning like the roar of a thousand lions,
or the beating wings of ten thousand screech owls in the night,
or the laughter of a hundred thousand hyenas through the hills,
i shake with the tremors of furious ecstasy, the dance of the old ones,
and a blazing knifepoint pierces my heart, it rends my ventricles apart:
my blood a stream of shooting stars upon the face of the world, changing it like a river consumes
a valley in the Winter's flood;
If i resist, my bones shall be weighted by too much flesh, and i, unable to rise, will drown.
For this, i cannot but wait, trembling,
for the moment when
they come to knock upon my precious bones.