Slouching towards Bethlehem: A work in regress.

“The name of the bow is life; its work is death.” – Heraclitus

The

breathless

ethere slithers

through the thickets,

birdbath cathedrals,

and hawkmoth-haunted heather

and rhythmically smoothens

thorns.  Theories regarding etheres

are worthless without mythologies

that tell us of amethyst nothingness.

Where the leash chafes before it chokes…

Where the nest of chemical serpents threaten to strike…

Where the ribcage weighs and hints suffocation…

…you will find it.

What he didn’t tell us was the bone-cracking pull at the hub or what happens when compression and tension collapse.

He didn’t tell us what fills the void when idols are hauled down.

Prostrate yourself before the cold stone and worship the pedestal itself.  And so the inferior becomes the superior and the superior swims in its meaninglessness.

Recognize the aesthetics of contrast.

Recognize a hell of no one’s making:

“At the core of all well-founded belief, lies belief that is unfounded.”