Sacred Sound

My heart is a bouquet aiming for the cosmos. Penetrating the stratosphere at the speed of malleable time-thing. Waiting for the awaiting door. Where up is also down. Where thoughts are vessels. A finite point of infinity. A doorway of unchecked coherent passion; wherein each initiation sets off an almighty “Aha”. An unglamorous “Hallelujah”, but far more dazzling than any utterance a downward facing head can make (suffocations ‘tween the teeth of toxic ancestry; obliterations of shame hidden in the sarcophagi of some apparent sanity). What is deity but that which is within me? (Bouquet encased in subjective bricolage, arranged in flawless spontaneity). The arrangement is sane.

Hallelujah, sane deity! Here I find you in recyclable captivation. In almighty awe of yourself. I was brought here to watch you remember.

You. I. Inhabiting this omnipresence. Twirling in the threads. Tasting them. Indulging in all of this. Being all of this. I taste like what I speak of what I taste like. A map of glinting apparitions has arisen from the sepulcher of my sleighed tongue (inherently chromatic and unabridged, mutilated because of this), split discriminately. A catalyst for this compass of past (remnant of inevitable now), where mirror meets mirror, and where I am the waiting door. Where I am the vessel (non-thought), indivisible from the passion asserting itself as infinite. And again captivated (having passed through heart once more), again exclaiming, “Hallelujah!”

Midair deity I need you to dance. Your steps written in unscripted fashion, messy and unapologetic. A sane arrangement of limb blessings sent inward. Dialogue of dialogue. Finite point of infinity. It is who you are! Cohere! You are constellations of reinvented afterthought and every butterfly bows to you! Each alchemical movement solidifying, defiantly so, the permanence of all that is vulnerable. The permanence of you. Of us.

Recall-

There were nightmares, abhorrent and inscrutable. Some residual belligerence had attached, attempted residence in us. Was a success; burrowed flesh. Promised Universe, burrowed flesh. Not from without but within. Started there. There in the organs (they grew limbs to sprint, went nowhere). Danced safety saunas to hide in but were found. Churned themselves into meals for a scale-skinned assailant bound to the chaotic need to eliminate all of the simple, all of the kind, and all of the blood. 

Recall-

In that field, that city we did not know, clothed in grass and mosquitoes.

Cut to-

Calling to the heaven of sky, the heaven of Earth, the heaven of mother. Cell phone, barely battery, “Mommy am I real?-Please proof I’m real. I can’t feel my hands feeling my hands feeling my-I need to vomit but it won’t let me.”

Cut to-

Memory: (Someone on the end of the bed not on the end of the bed. Head turned with courage to face the indentation. A thing peeled out of there)

Cut to- 

I am only body and it is not mine

Recall-

Shrubbery and burnt skin. Sunset at Lake Michigan. “Drown yourself. Drown yourself, you are weapon.” Completely colloquial even disdain absent, stated as a fact that hasn’t even the concern to present itself as such, and we believed it.

Memory of a dream: (Child’s head lathered in shampoo, water cold, waited all afternoon, dunks head, catches breath, not a dream.)

Recall-

In an atramentous space we attempt to find our gills. Separated, you touch me. I feel for the string. Separated, you touch me. I pull on something. Voice saying, “My eyes in heaven.” But it is not your voice; it is not you in my throat. Those hands are too cold to be your smile. I am pulled into ascension. Separated, you touch me.

Recall-

Pulling on the cloaks of several Chaplains in that sector where penny machine diagnoses reiterate the material of the safety trays those poor patients ate garbage off of. A two week tenure with handcuffed pit stops in front of a judge who wasn’t there. Biblical transformer under the blotted television and over the bed nurses would not strap us down in. “What don’t you understand? Don’t you understand I am weapon? I will hurt and it will not be me hurting and I’m hurting and your pills are not working.”

Recall-

Diadem of magenta slithering off of our bare ankle into a mental sonnet illustrating in real time grief how nothing but Maria Falconetti’s face makes any sense anymore. In confiscated dream we re-imagine a Judee Sill tune to the hum of Eric Enstrom’s Grace, then awaken to our hand waving at us. Leaving us the self portrait of the only leaf in the universe which wants to be a deep sea diver. Half-learned kintsugi with no material to work with. Weapon.   

Recall-

That Independence Day moon, walls thankfully thick. I found you in a phone call. You did not speak, guardian did. Guardian did not weep, didn’t reassure, just said, “I have to work in the morning”. 

I found you then. During the “-g” of “morning” I found you. Erupting in unfettered rhythm and doing it everywhere. Chest was the focus, but nowhere were you not. I pulled you in (cocoon-fisted) from the can’t exist corners of resolute boundlessness, reaching for nothing; and knew I’d been brought there to watch you watch me remember. To witness my eyes through yours. To become, through them, the contraction all is. To embody this body in this body that is mine that is mine. To cut. To run amok and sing and f**k all things happening at once I saw you I saw nothing else. No scripture, doctrine, dogma, chapter, verse, or quotation. No word. No face in the night. No philosophy. Just. Common. Sense. Just you, pulse of remembrance; and it was good. On the tip of the tongue of that letter cohere! Not an “Om”, but a “-g”. 

Hallelujah deity! In all ethereal permanence, delivering Divine Reciprocity in that glare alone, daring for a single thing to again defile; I am so proud of you! Nature begs your fervor, that metamorphosed malice, those eyes those eyes those eyes. Begs your blush, your sweat, that winged release. Sees you as I do. Unparalleled patron holding river to the same within all in vicinity. Deity of “I forgive your absence; I got this from here.” Deity of “You will not loot my language.” Deity of “Come drink; I see you.” 

Now moving through the reflection you are I am, my hand fully under our domain, I am the child with the toes (led gently to our silt) curling in sulfur, ticklish, and here is sun.

I am now sure of your smile. You whisper warm good mornings into the milk of my moth palms and let it spill, let it mingle with the tile, let it fester, let it hover over brow as an inevitable baptism. You leave me there, there in the tail end of the tail end of the explosion but you don’t. If I bolt from nightmare I am now new each time; never alone. We affix as pinnate fractals on an axis unknown to itself; a hand in hand harvest of neglected essentials. Willing participants, having landed; Heaven, I’m in heaven.