Woundwood
the human spine, the tree, the pole
the rod, the beam, the stipe of a cross
in all its forms, connects above to below.
the galactic cross spins and churns
in an ocean of milk, counts precession
to a new polestar, cool burn passion,
to crucify earth.
time does not heal. it gives space
to isolate, to sink. to protect. to cover
with scar tissue. every interval counts.
on the other side of all defense mechanisms,
woundwood
seals the damage to the reaction zone,
a callus, everpresent, never gone.
fugue state. there is no life without information.
all the space between matters,
nothingness is significant.
love snakes up the spine to break free,
past evolution’s corruption of infancy,
civilization must harness the great sea.
burning mountain, shining of Karakum,
in the face of fear, in trials of fire and grief,
renew the whole, and align to the double X.
find the key in the sky to the city of the white
-marbled guardians of ten directions.
Ave crux, spes unica…
tympana through the mystic almond,
smelling of raspberries and rum.
sound, matter, and energy come together.
Metatrons cube warped the drum,
duality is fractal spacetime reality.
black void beats to keep this illusion in line.
scar on the firmament, fifteen the secret limit
of the infinite grid that will set DNA free.
the empty hourglass spins again…
gravitational forces and particles swirl
in serenity existing in separate dimensions.
dance on the event horizon, on the abyss
projecting the holographic duality of our nature,
our reality. corvus the crow and crater the cup
ride hydra to the mushroomed maiden,
who wears the sun and makes the moon her feet.
crowned in splendour, she beds the one chasing its tail,
eighty-eight omega, metered feet in the milky yoke
and bearers static on the other side the whale.
chariots fire in butterfly cluster pulls off her cloak.
now jump with the dolphins to the tree rooted in verse
…and the wood spoke.
"Would to God that all the Lords people were Prophets"
Numbers XI. Ch 29. v.
