The Darkness, pts. I-X

I. O Thou Moon

O thou Moon! who presidest over plateau and canyon;
Over red rock and mesa,
Would thy power be impugned
By those howling wolves who are convinced
That it is their own shrieks and salvos
That rule the dark night?
No, thou art all powerful in this kingdom of mist,
Where demons need not fear the light
As they scurry to and fro between rock and tree.
Sing me sweet lullabies
Accompanied by the ocarinas of the stars;
Put me to bed with stories of monsters and dragons;
Let me drift off and join the night
Which thou guardest over like the mother of a sleeping babe.

II. A Scrap of Paper

A scrap of paper flutters through the air
Like a hummingbird closing in on her nectar,
Until it drops limp into the canal
And is washed away under audience of night.
What words were scribbled upon it?
What playwright or poet
Had stood beneath a dim street lamp
And let out his soul through the bellows of creation?
The city waters have left this wisdom irrevocably damp.
The sun sets over the western mountains
And leaves the street in which I stand half lit,
And I venture home, no longer to consider
What sort of ink might be bleeding in the sewers.

III. Ode to Darkness

Light, when focused, will burn up your fantasies
And replace them with a blinding glare
That leaves no room for spontaneous ideation.
No, let us dance instead under cover of night,
Time kept by the crickets of the marsh.
If sentient life rests upon memory,
Then death must be the most peaceful caretaker,
Bending over the mortal crib
With hypnotist's watch swinging.
The numeral zero is an oblong coffin
Made of wood for the termites to feast upon.
Inside, the fumes of winter are buried deep underground.
Mere months later the tomb shall be exhumed,
And the corpse miraculously come back to life.

IV. The Light Switch

There is a switch in Olympia
And the gods have the power to choose
Which position it assumes: on, or off.
When the light is on,
Faeries and seraphim make their journeys through the land
On their way to celebrations of ocular clarity,
With bread of the earth and puppetry of the sky
Providing the day a festive atmosphere.
When the light is off,
It is only those creatures with eyesight to defy the night,
Those nocturnal bats and raccoons,
Who wander past the forest's stone oracle
Not caring what it would prophesy.
I am ready to hibernate with the bears
With the comfort that the light switch shall remain off
As the winter draws near.

V. The Blood of Tomorrow

Set before me is the task
Of escaping from this iron maiden.
The authorities possess instruments to deface the truth
Until it is unrecognizable,
Racks to pull at philosophical tenets
Until they crack and separate.
It is only in darkness that I am free from this torture.
When I close my eyes I can pretend
That objective truth in fact still exists,
That my heart still pumps
With the blood of tomorrow;
When my skin has wandered into the realm of fantasy
The electric chair becomes bearable,
Even friendly.

VI. Fire

The cave is illuminated by fire,
Ambivalent fire which gives life as surely as it takes it away,
Breathing, snorting, whispering.
It warms and comforts as the night sets in,
All the while threatening instead to burn and destroy.
The light splashes jetés and pirouettes
Upon the slate grey walls.
It is civilization itself that is intimated
By the spitting flames
That light up the members of the tribe.
Variegated yet selfsame,
Different faces are painted in brown and yellow
And whatever other colors the palette possesses
For those fiery brushes to dip into.

VII. Ode to Darkness, cont.

The great flood comes now every night with regularity,
And every night I gladly drown,
With the recognition
That when oxygen has been abandoned,
True knowledge of the world then becomes available.
In darkness I can prowl through the woods and brush,
Not burdened by the notion
That I might remember any of my journey.
No, I shall wander through my days
In blissful amnesia of my double life.
In the grand theater of darkness
I am captivated by the prestidigitation
Of the man in the black top hat and his rabbit.
There is no spectacle that light could illuminate
That would change my mind.

VIII. The Tunnel

Now is the time to learn our destiny.
The darkness is full of strangers who are nonetheless familiar,
Faces with lines that are somehow recognizable,
And they pass judgment upon our lives
As the light from the destination of all destinations
Flickers on the ceiling and floor
Of the tunnel that twists a tortuous path
Through love and hate,
Through experience and emotion.
The possibility of eternal light is tempting,
But I would be just as happy in the quiet of black
Where I could contemplate the philosophy
Of the marbles and stones,
Of the birds and dragons,
In perfect silence.

IX. Hall of Mirrors

Shapes are reflected and refracted
Into impossibly bent and skewed geometry,
And darkness thus becomes more
Than simply the absence of light,
Instead assembling into shadows to define figures of its own.
A semblance of order descends upon the ancient chamber
As the logic of the mirrors
Pens its own book of law,
One in which language is bloodied and mutilated
So that circles and spheres
Can meld into marionettes
Whose strings exist in photic energy,
Never to be pulled by any human schema.

X. O Thou Moon, cont.

O thou Moon! who governest over rock and ravine;
Over ocean and eddy,
Would thy authority be questioned
By those singing whales who are sure
That it is their own melodies and descants
That rule the gloomy sea?
No, thou art all knowing in this duchy of algae,
Where sprites need not fear the sky
As they swim to and fro between stone and coral.
Dance me beautiful dances
Choreographed by the fish;
Wake me up with reveille from golden trumpet;
Let me rise up and embrace the day
Which thou usherest in as thy final wish.