crow morphology (she)
what lies beneath?
Side 2, Groove 4: [audible]
the stones memorialize the stones entomb
the stones are the threshold through which the beginning embarks upon its end
the stones are the threshold through which the end returns where it began.
the stones’ mass warps the field so that a journeyer setting out in any direction with any goal will quest his way back to them. the stones.
above hawk soars scanning the damp field for food.
below, a burial ground of childish things. let the rapture resurrect them with child-like wisdom.
to the east a wild horse, spiral horned, departs through the shell shellac of dawn, in search of dark.
to the north, crow remains always crow for the wolves are hungry but easily outsmarted.
to the west a stag retreats in the deep blossom of the ever-dying sun.
to the south a pleasure garden, fragrant and fruitful, walled with fire.
in the middle a stone laid on its side maybe toppled maybe placed that way who knows? and what matter?
she sits there, in her afternoon gown.
Cursus, too heavy to speak, cotton-mouthed and miserable, drags himself towards her.
The toppled stone is not hers, but she has done her best to dress its dark mourning for pleasant repast. here find flowers grown in the pot of her hand, basalt for three, silver spoons to hold tongues in place, claw-edged tongs to pick words, desiccated lumps of sugar, from his dry mouth.
She has her pitcher of cream, and knives, too for piercing or spreading thin.
Cursus heaves himself upright and collapses on his table.
his mouth is parched but his heart is drowning.