I: The Gates of the Sun

An icy hand takes mine
“Will you be my wings?”
The ground falls away,
“A patch never meant.”

And we danced,
Buffeted and wheeling
The twelve great houses


This grand tour
Accompanied by a
Celestial septet,
Whose sidereal pulses
Fill the now darkened,
Now lighted dome

We accelerate

A frenzied conductor
Coupled with an
Unyielding partner
Leading me through
Unrehearsed steps
In a crowd of
The familiar faceless


The fifth or fiftieth pass
Reveals a quiet ledge
In the northernmost extremes.
Pieced together from glances,
A precipice ideal.

Straining for the edge of the disc,
By way of a rush and a push and a fall,
We greet the abyss.

II: Subterranean Interlude (A Long Drop in the Dark)

Chthonic rhythms overlap,
So quickly as to become a drone.
These pass unnoticed by the head,
Yet rattle the gut and chest.
We trudge towards the center
of its poly-metric web.

Far from this singing cave,
Dis stands abandoned.

III: From the Valley to the Moon

Through her deserted gates,
Past dry fountains and wasted towers,
A somewhat empty square.
Occupied by mute shades;
The forgotten twice-dead,
All superficial smiles, carefree
The abandoned children of Aquarius.

You lead, and they, for the first or
(If their fear grants recognition)
Second time, recoil.
Bovine eyes darting,
They make way once again.

“It was too concrete.”

We press into the valley and
A din of nervous laughter
Rises in the dusty distance left behind.

IV: Rivers of Static

We traverse great rivers of static,
Hissing and alive.
Drawn from the peaks of this gray rock,
The lunar throne that awaits us.
Denuded swords line the path,
Their handlers long since gone—
Having left no trace other than the ease of our passage.

V: What is High Did Fall

Frequencies peak on the summit, where
A weathered seat oversees the monochrome expanse.
Shuffling on, deathless and triumphant.

“The vacated rose
Tears through the firmament
Silencing all”


A novel stagnation
Exercises in subtle decay
Ever seeking stillness,
That familiar, opaque gray
Echoing songs of
Calcification and crumbling,
Static an endless refrain


If I Were to Wander

If I were to wander
Beyond the sea and plain
My shadow cast no longer
A wraith stripped of his name
Though if I were to wander,
Not much, I think, would change
As Sisyphus or Herakles,
Despite the setting, man remains.