Monday, April 25, 2016

wild type

teeth of the mountains
the song of the wind
in the cutting bass-
Those tracing movements
Where I become one
Nestled between the æther, and the earth and the sky
Where I am the rage of Sierra Nevada
blooming in the night
we are thirsty
for the poison and the machine
We are thirsty bitches
and I came to quench something as insatiable
as the discord of the Mojave
She dances, she dances like a ghost on the sprawling desert
Windswept setting sun
shedding feathers
the ballet of raptors unfolds
we are venom and chemical
awoken and new
kicking up dust
choking the perfume of Datura
As falcon and tercel
beating down on balmy air.
I feel so privileged
having experienced such a concert
under a waxing moon in a red sky
In the era of our ascension
I feel so powerful and beautiful
in terse theaters
beyond description
my home has made me fearless and brave
In the talons and toxins
devoid of implication
Our flowers burst in the darkness
Unable to contain the delight-
placing us in this universe
we roll like wingbeats
we fall like snow
and we rise like a golden and merciless sun.
where the cactus give us shelter
I feel so utterly complete
in the thunder of the sound
in the dream, that I am only beginning to understand.

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