The Coppice Meat

The mother tongue

Semblance to waking

Semblance to moving

Semblance to being over with

The mother tongue joining of the drum

Mutter to the dream gutter

The bar of light blinding us at the peak we wait for no longer

Such speech in search of the dead

Only one sound jumping up to thee

They have sent me in search of the dazzling dead

And their face is blurring into mist behind the hill

Only one song, crazed purpose, enactment in the land

What was granted on that first time out over the shadows

They were filling every crooked palace of my eyes' hollows, that look and lunged

On that first walk out

What was spoken first was how all of this

Every least part must be supernaturally clearer, illumined on eternal tables that shift

What was spoken on the first part about the fresh, the vivid, the hole in the vortex

Where worlds pierced ideas with an absolute embraced

And allowed themselves to exist in beauty

What was spoken from moment to moment, revolving in a clear space, without confusion

And the doors opened

The entire map appeared, plan of the whole

Worlds appearing, crashing into perfection like unimaginable powerful and efficient weapons

Stars consume us with longing, boulders reach for us like lovers

And we enter singing; we have gone nowhere

What was seen with a thousand eyes of us, at the brink of all

Suns, glory of mists, cleared from the entryways across the valley floor

And the keepers who wait at the gates of the plan

What was heard in a skeleton's brief aria of obedience

As its rainbow bones paid homage, wing-tip to wing-tip

The ones of the ??? magnificent, crowding to catch with tender clasp

My wisdom which never was

To transport it, with all due pomp

To a distant spot where it may revolve forever on its own delicate pivot

In a style to which it is accustomed, safe from me

Until time is no more

And every gate to the plan and every threshold of every gate

And every approach from the far places

And every cloud that hovers above the plan, desiring wind and the gleaming sky

Where will the cries of the astatic iron bird find us, now that we know

And the shift has shown us, and we are walking with ourselves

Into the shaking air needing nothing

And all being has become as breath over the transfigured spaces?

Into the house of the heart on that first time

Into the plan, through the gate of the first time

Throughout the land I saw you, whom my heart had never hoped to see

And it was all fire, as the first drops of rain fell

And the scents, sliding down the air of the million and one desires of the unnamed god

Penetrated us, who are empty of all wisdom at last

The gate of entry was passed

And night fell over the dissonant ranges

Here, where it all began, as the ground trembles

The wraiths of what was un-god, anything before

Bestows itself prostrate before us, prepared for annihilation

Engraved on the ground where we walk is this warning

"Everything is now destroyed

Do not seek to be anything other than this

You will be divested of every garment until none remain

What is born must become whole by annihilation

By the gates of the first time

By the glittering flight of arrows into all twilights of knowing

By the din of the waning light"

What was spoken, what was heard, what was seen

Beyond the shift