the mirror of the moon
We're flipping after one
rotation, spinning in continuation
zagging in the other direction to
complete another revolution
about the darker focal point
before once again returning
to that fat old sun in the sky
calling us away on the lazy
laurence of another day half
remembered like a dream
whaddaya mean
what do I mean?
I think I made it pretty
clear, it's best to steer
away from here my dear
and while you're at it why
don't you buy another taco
from the street vendor down
on the corner a block from
the tattoo parlor or maybe
have yourself another beer
the message within the earth's
magnetic flip may just coincide
with our dark sister's dance
you once said under the faint
flickering and almost inaudible
hissing of the dull purple neon
light emanating from the six
paned lamp shade above
the brass claw base situated
as tradition demands before
the shut door one wants to bar
from passage candle light filtered
through molten glass slowly
as our resolve gathered for
the shedding of the skein
of worlds. Our epidermal
lineage, the molting of the serpent
as it grows from the egg
that is forged of a shell
woven of spinning particles
zoomed in on revealing
planetoids and asteroids
and stellar detritus weaving
a shuttle-cocked shield inter-
penetrating shadows emanating
from the interior, lit up across
streaks of flash-lightning
revealed an intermittent
shining pouring straight out
plutinos and centaurs circle our
parent star as a rank of centurions
guarding our very solar perimeter
the pretty real celestial birth
which awaits us all appears
to our perceptions as death
itself. Welcome to the log
Welcome to the home of the log.
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