Poems for an ancient algorithm
+ a moon-bathed mood
“Suppose, as in the fairy tales of the shapechangers, the body is a god in its own right, a teacher, a mentor, a certified guide? ... Without the body, there would be no sensations of crossing thresholds, there would be no sense of lifting, no sense of height, weightlessness.”
—Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves (p. 206 in my edition)
Experiment: engaging with the body as a sophisticated haptic interface embedded in the ecological system of the world. These poems are dedicated to that, and I offer them under this full moon in a spirit of late summer readiness for harvest.
Genesis*
We are all reptile.
It is underneath the root,
Pre-dimensional.
Red Coin
My fire is a coin that can buy all -
the most wanted, most longed for.
Objects of desire does not cut it,
what this red chip of time can buy
the one whose palm it graces,
momentarily sun-king for love and forever
held in the flame of reclaiming
that burns away all but divine knights.
Oracle
Art is forever making itself, piercing the fabric of the world
like an embroidery needle and looping back up,
threads of life following.
Let these lines - permutations of vibrating matter
- be gold boughs laden with darkly beaded pomegranates.
In warmth + vitality,
*Genesis first published in Rabbit Journal 29 - Lineages.
The Campfire is tended on the lands of the Wurundjeri people. Across this giant island continent, traditional custodians never ceded their sovereignty to the colonialist construct of Australia, and I support the unfolding process of giving voice to this.