Thursday, November 28, 2013

Concert of the Gods

One hundred thousand suns burst their rinds,
dispensing swirls of light  
before names, before time,
spontaneous tendrils hemorrhage passionately.

 The celestial chalice splinters like porcelain.
each crack highlighting the alabaster skin,
stabbing the fertile soil of night.
Atlas groans under the mass, fingers claw
toward stability, bending, shrugging, shifting,
hoisting each eruption into position.

 Picking up my guitar, eyes closed,
empathic fist clenched as an in-breath tightens
each muscle before the down-stroke.
Poised, without plan, silver strings
cower beneath my hovering hand,
chords slammed through a Sunn Amp.
I mimic the concert of God –

 Agni ejaculates streams of sparkling magma,
one rogue ember penetrates a breach in the egg,
fusing softly. The countless Denizens of Eternity
stand to admire, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
and Infinity bursts into bloom.

 Notes like ash drift from the eager womb,
seeds burrow, sprout songs. Incessant pulsing
moves the rapt onlookers to applause.
One whispers, “Hush”, and then conception,
gestation, birth. A spiral of milk
spills from torrential breasts.

 Sorcerers and scientists explain how
continents were knit together, how stray notes
strung randomly are subject to magic.
The full belly grows warm with spawn,
igneous arms lift the dawn, infant fingers rise
into cerulean skies, wiggling cloud-ward.

 The child is laid under a crescent cradle,
golden bough gently tilting, Helios
spills pearl white milk to young Earth;
first breath, the infant suckles…
there has been a birth.

 
end/michael bogar

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