Born and bred of the
Old Blood,
into this turgid violent current  

Though I wear the mask of deep survival,
I cannot help but see through the eyes of the Ancients  

wound-licker,
Soul-less,
The frayed anti-redeemer of all trivial anomalies.
Threaded and tangled in itself at the roots,
A lone ember in the belly of night.

hot cognitions—
Structure and unstructure,
A Self-organizing system misfiring
at its most critical boundary

All fight and no dog,
Snatching hard against a broken chain,
teeth and needle
sinking ever deeper into dark
Into stillness.

The hand of Fire reaches out,
And the hand of Shadow reaches in kind

I am
Is the river that i cannot cross
Yet I am that shore,
I am the lone current,
Carver and carved,
The obstinate raging flow

Blurred colors at a boundless edge named
Vision

dissolute alone in the placid twilight
Yet somehow
the scarlet thread of passion
weaves on
through the hills, along forgotten highways, fields
grocery stores, storms,
Into the very depths of a dying sun
Into those eyes  

Between furnace and night,
Napescent and breath
Lingers in the deep
A soft shadow fallen
On the sharpest edges

rhythm,
pulse
The forgottenlovesong

A clasp of whispered promises
Rolls down the unlit steps into the outside dark and is gone forever