SOC Writing _ 23.2.21

Snake

Tree calling to me – get down on your knees and pray to the god who is below – shining up from the deep. Get down to this place of utter dismemberment and heat; and pray. Pray that you will be consumed, that every piece eaten – all the food devoured and just the taste left in you mouth  - gobble down all the juice and pursue the black into its inky abode. The light has gone and only you are in the mind of the snuffling sounds around the leafy forest floor. You are naked and in the belly of this desire - a fire takes hold, burns you – marks you in the chest with indelible ink. Your spirit creature has risen from some deep lair – has come to set you free at the gates of a most persistent jailor – have you anything left to say, to be, to show off? Drop it here for beyond here is another land without name – fame – without your identity – all leaving behind as the walking dead let themselves be lead to another horizon. Cast off time, cast off fear, cast off the burdens of the living and enter the places of the dead - de los muerto – this day for you the crawling, struggling, slithering, mass exodus towards the shrine of Shiva – towards the candles flickering of the old ones we pay pay homage to – the odyssey of your own perfect way – here in the home of dirt and sticks and straw and clay you have become fecund – in the dying is sensuous, moist – pungent life – in the utter depths of glory is a transformation unbeknown to many, unbeknown to you – down the well you go – only rope now – precarious it is – and your feet find the opening – you crawl inside – following your dick instinct - this time you mean business and there is no stopping you.