Valkyria

Tuesday morning. Nearing nine. Pencil to paper. Dotting an i. Turning abruptly towards my office window. NYC engulfed in shadow below.

A giant has come to tell a story.

I place my hand upon the glass as if to signal the approaching maiden. 470 miles per hour then halt. 100 floors up - an atom’s breadth away - she rests upon a false precipice with wings extended. She beckons an embrace.

Quiet.

What is happening? Seems time has stopped. Somehow calm. Palm to pane. The surface cool to my touch. I wonder if the giant on the other side can sense my presence as much as I am able to sense its own. Then a crackling cuts through the silence. The window begins to come apart. Fine white lines spider outward in all directions. A thin glacier looming. Then her voice. A whisper living within my head. Till Valhalla!

Earlier this morning. At Kaffe 1668. I had a cup of coffee with a close friend. She was upset. Though I tried I could not console her. She works in an office two doors down from me. I wonder if she is there now. I walk over. She sits at her desk perusing a ledger of some kind. A sort of reckoning of our time. She is a mannequin to my being. Her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. I caress her cheek. I want to hold her. I would like to have comforted her. But my love is alien. Out of place. Out of time.

Back to my office. The window now a semi-translucent canvas of stars. I know this is where I must be. I am not afraid. I am at peace. Again I place my hand upon the glass as if to welcome the Valkyr. I loosen my tie. Breathe in.

Then.

A supernova. Exploding all about me. Into me. Through me. Thousands of tiny bits of glass engulf me. Become me. Instantly undo me. I merge with fire. Disintegrate into ash. I make my way upward through twisting writhing metal. I leave everything and nothing behind.

The next day. 4000 miles away. There upon a vast tundra. A young golden-haired woman upon an enormous dark horse throws her arms heavenward. Transfixed in this pose. She calls out to a flight of ravens above. Till Valhalla!

Lightning, rainbows, heaven

Fecal state the mattress
rots a virgin’s puerile fate
on ashen pallor a cellar door
is dashed into bits

    we are not made of lightning
    we are not made of any such thing
    our existence is not so virtuous
    this hour has come for thieves to take

and bloodied nose
drains floral patterns into storm drain
into street beaten back by rain
some teeth there make for quite the display

    i want to burn money
    turn god into gold
    race dragon fire as it burns
    a village to the ground

but hers is a scream i'd never heard
is magic, is death, is purged,
used, broken, abandoned, discarded,
…he got his fill

    matter is not made of lightning
    is not the fanatic’s calling
     is deeper than we know
    is the very edge of bleating
    rainbows lead to heaven.

Sysius, Rufus, and the vacant state

In the fit of my atmosphere
i had only just succumbed
to your intent
to destroy me

happily i would engage
you happily
set the stage
for my tragedy
enraged

i clamored
i climbed
i clung
to the divine
within
to drive away
a darker yet still
foreshortened
sin

i am Sysius
the caretaker of gardens
not our own

i am Rufus
moderater of games
long gone
dead

i am the desecrator of monuments
to the nearly immortal
and the spit in your face
after your gravest offense

i’m frightened
i’m delusional states
i’m encapsulated mythos
rhyming against rhyme
reasoning against reason
without either
i am vacant.

Conduit

Forward i have come
found parents of the under one
blamed regards to irreplaceable vices
chose to implement
what has never been done

now a view not determined
normal
her self-esteem taken
a certain mental
conduit maiden
hell

but i am not brazen
nor am i made of the same
mettle
my time is...
seems somehow different
less virtuous
more
contemptuous

a voice, an entity, travels
a fiber-optic pathway
to my doorstep
disappears
all at once
alone

but there is beauty in the silence
a vague fountain of life unspent

over there
a horse in slow motion
stops
looks at me
recognizes something
kneels
beckoning
through the haze
no sounds
just motion
moving as if by instinct
as if in sync with some
unseen force
moves forward
to initiate what has never been done.

Dwell

Rivers of sub-atomic
particles,
articulated syllables,
all misinterpreted
rituals,
i have forgone

sightless have i
undone the ties that
blind
forward my heart
to make relevant
a constructed emotion
i have blended
slight

a backwards glance
suggests there might
have been a chance,
a gathering of stars

but an ocean grows ever
deeper
where those particles collide
where i sit
at the foot
of purest creation
where place cannot derive
location
where location is
not fixed
where you,
as if in static silence,
dwell.