The Hole

A singularity,
The darkness that use to be your mouth,
An absence,
A hole through the centre of the world,
A pit immune to magick,
A well that captures memory,
A black hole where your mouth use to be.

So There Are No Stars

So close, so there are no stars.
Like words without sounds.
Or cold spots on floor boards without past possession.
A hollow thing.
Like a passage without rite.
Or a signal without a gesture, returning uncast.
A writing of circles held below the oceans and the lakes and the rivers.
Weighed down by buried dreams and drowned desire.
Everything falls apart.
And everything moves in circles.
Everything will be beneath the water.
Even the stars.

Fragments

From drowning sky, I hear you. From burning ground, I see you. From buried waters, I touch you. Though without time and place. Though without point or purpose. I reach my hands out to the last star of the morning. Some raise their taloned limbs. Some insight violence. Others close their eyes to sleep. I can not believe. Doors are marked with crosses by claws. From the well and the altar and the pool and the mound, I hold you in my arms.

Continuity

With rung and twine tight and nail. From earth to star, from dirt to air, from pit to spire and anchor. And with hands and feet, to climb and to hold, stations, states and stages. An axis with rod and with ring. From past night toward future sun rise. Hold on and climb down. A centre held with wrought of might. Of power cast. From body shroud to brain crown. Structure found and continuity forged. Like spokes from ceremonial wheel, captured to connect that which is above and that which is below.

Your New Tower

Excavate order to establish your tables. A tooth seal, a bone seal, a skin seal and a blood seal. These grids will hold together elemental properties so that you may prepare your way. I will cast my shadow onto the ground you need and mark the earth with charts of stars that have long disappeared. The trajectories of their haunted orbits conceive a map, plotting inverted recollections, past peripheries and ground to break. The holes in time and space left by these undead stars secure the coordinates for your secret tower. A tower that will bring law to unclean mythologies and purify the stagnant wells of fallen gods. I will watch you mold your bricks from a distance for they are poison to me. From the wet dirt, a kabala of chalk, rust and ash will be the base. These methods, to make manifest a form that ladders into the sky unseen. Such are hoary and such are dormant beneath. Construct your foundation from the blueprints chattered to you by my pointed teeth in your sleep. Traverse this horizon, this visceral strata, these shifting plates and build your tower where the lines connecting all the holes in the sky meet. Pay attention to your footing. I will wear my heart heavy on my sleeve for you as you make this journey, build and weave new talismans together to fortify your house that connects the sky to the ground.