Narcissus lifts his gaze and cranes his neck to see what he can see;
He twists his neck so painfully
What crystal pure eyes frozen
Imploded by sensations overflowing!
He sees everything through frosted blue
Each wall is transparent
And he taps on every window
But no one hears
He reaches inside of us and is lost in the void and the maze of memory.
Sweet memory
mirth and joy!
To hear the youthful voices
Of fields where once he lay.
Buffered by time
Memories so precise
Sensation of deepening fabric.
Laughter rings out,
The laughter is real though years have flown,
His cruel sentence has ended,
Fleeting beauty lingers on.
Up and away from his magic pool
He turns creaking knee
Takes leave silently
Banishing the zone to grey-white abstraction.
Narcissus Retiring
not skulking away,
at last retreat
From the feathery grasses silkily sliding in aquafingers’ grasp.
Hymn to Broken Idols
Visit Apocalypse Illustrated
Celtic Radio and the Fourth Dimension
apocalupsis
Though the world keeps turning fast as a whip My heart slackens and wobbles; Blood trickles and sifts Tsunami recoils Quickening pulse To snap her fist. Narcissus Retiring not skulking away, at last retreat From the feathery grasses silkily sliding in aquafingers’ grasp.
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