A Continuum of Blood and Mud (Poem)

A continuum of blood and mud. Clay air sun lungs pollen animation

Unwinding in notes…thoughts off in origami mind too know too slow

Footsteps
Meter to the beat of a step, a slow and steady rap, a thump thick resounding in silence. No more no nest no less to rest on, a lesson that neither teaches nor is learned…truth convincing through presence alone and then thrown into doubt, second guessed, a second test relative to objects once thought known in presumption and then again in postsumption, where all pieces in their places in retrospect, thinking back in words, thinking backwards while shadows from the sun stretch softly and silently out until they set.

Vertical rise, through predator eyes, all unseen except in strategy. Sitting up on a rock a banquet of porridge, thatched huts as a storage for souls by the dozen, in mindness and frozen, to function a mechanism, spilling blood on the floor.

BLOOD.

That natural remainder
Smeared across a spear’s head
Distilled to a fine white mist
Rocks remembered and recracked looking for gems to polish to admire or sell or collage or correspond to the alignment of the stars when the gravity of the tide directs a mind to wander the dreams of the consequence for being or perhaps becoming alive.

Virginity lost.