“…the Sun.”
“No. I won’t. I’ve been noctrunal far too long.”
“Shhhh. Close your eyes. Breathe from your center. Give into your true nature. Loosen the earthly gravitational pull…forward the soul—it remembers—reconnect with your primal mind.”
{Hands tilt my head back, fingers river flow along my neck, base of skull, forehead—tapping rhythms every few paces—}
{minutes slow—}
“Now, the Sun. How does He speak?” {My breath catches—my brain silences—and I relinquish control}
“No. I won’t. I’ve been noctrunal far too long.”
“Shhhh. Close your eyes. Breathe from your center. Give into your true nature. Loosen the earthly gravitational pull…forward the soul—it remembers—reconnect with your primal mind.”
{Hands tilt my head back, fingers river flow along my neck, base of skull, forehead—tapping rhythms every few paces—}
{minutes slow—}
“Now, the Sun. How does He speak?” {My breath catches—my brain silences—and I relinquish control}
... … …Chants…Arias… ...No, a dirge...a wild rite...a language solemn, a depth of prism iridesce and spilt apothecary bottle silence
Cedar split…fractured burns…a warm terracotta belly…and stacked driftwood…
Sin. Sin rich as September coughing seas, and soft as milk thick lightning streaming through an underwater haze…
He tasted me —my flesh as ripe as the snap of rapture—
He let himself lost in my body—my cemetery, a garden of enigmas—he tore from me, a bitter medicinal root, potent—fatal
He percussions me {vertebrae / ribs} — He strings me {hips / clavicle} — He sacreds me {sternum / womb}—He abandons me—cold steel, dissected and raw
He still rises on my taste buds —layer upon layer— tobacco soil, aged oak, wax of prayer candles—He prays to himself
His birthright tears me from inside out—his progenitor mends me and quietly recedes
He enwraps me—a chaos of breeze— the vibration in ricochet {his lips}—a burial shroud... ... ...
Cedar split…fractured burns…a warm terracotta belly…and stacked driftwood…
Sin. Sin rich as September coughing seas, and soft as milk thick lightning streaming through an underwater haze…
He tasted me —my flesh as ripe as the snap of rapture—
He let himself lost in my body—my cemetery, a garden of enigmas—he tore from me, a bitter medicinal root, potent—fatal
He percussions me {vertebrae / ribs} — He strings me {hips / clavicle} — He sacreds me {sternum / womb}—He abandons me—cold steel, dissected and raw
He still rises on my taste buds —layer upon layer— tobacco soil, aged oak, wax of prayer candles—He prays to himself
His birthright tears me from inside out—his progenitor mends me and quietly recedes
He enwraps me—a chaos of breeze— the vibration in ricochet {his lips}—a burial shroud... ... ...
{My eyes open—a false reality? a foreshadow of the eye?—gauzy, black wings suspended before the craggy tomb, absorbing light—sunlight emblazons the spire, consuming shadow}
“Can we?...Do we?... ...Live? Die?... ...We’re... ...a Möbius strip”... ...
“Accept the ride.”
“Can we?...Do we?... ...Live? Die?... ...We’re... ...a Möbius strip”... ...
“Accept the ride.”
{Return II Origins}
E.A. O'Connell
