Where to begin? From the top, I suppose Of the proverbial mountain Standing steadfast Slowly penetrating The indigo mist spiraling The pinnacle Peaking through the The unified particles gathering In bent-up lines In pent-up times.
Electric Against my own your skin is pressed Entranced by optical pools Enchanted by what lies Beyond the colored flecks of jade and chestnut we digress Melting into a single texture.
Easy. Steadfast and consistent despite The prodding lecture Of suspended disbelief Unleashing ourselves To the ambient Four-dimensional Placating the phenomenal Perceived through the "right kind of eyes".
Gleaming yet gleaning but still Guiding, this compass That encompasses the raw Torn-back flesh and ego Scored and sacrificed by nameless Aboriginal ancestors Arching their bows with Aim to eradicate Foul ideas and fallacies Judged beneath the squinted Eye determining the deadly course Of another forced Self-consuming Twisted moral paradigm.
They salute with self-satisfactory smiles To relieve the conflict of conscience Regarding blood-splattered soil Salting the vague consolation: sputtering, "This too shall pass, my brother". Comforting one another With the zip of Vibrating strings Pulsing against the Weathered fingertips In imperfect time.
Curving cedar lines Poised with precision Resemble and assemble in fragments The urge to protect and preserve The curve of a lover's spine Bent-over and braiding Long locks for war Sitting cross-legged On the dirt and hide floor.