Author: M.

The First Morning

Hear my song to you.

Hear my song to you. Each word. A Prayer Made of Love.

Composed from Admiration. Sung with Gratitude.

Drink the warm drink. Let it enter you. Open up and drink my words.

It is

always
The First Morning

I feel a soft brush as it strokes my face.
The hair of each bristle glides across my wet cheek
Oil and water begin to color me.
Another stroke and my second heart breaks
My soft warm blood-filled compass feels freedom as the clay crumbles and the needle spins round to north again.
The nitrogenous, oxygen-laced gas surrounds the small red engine in my chest.
Familiar? foreign? it’s very difficult to determine.
It permeates everything.
I can’t escape its touch.
The soft perfume is drawn into my lungs by another stroke of her brush.
One more strong pull of her hand.
A whisper
I struggle to hear.
Pointless until,…
She paints my ears with her words

The hissing gas.
The first sound.
The hissing gas.
The first song.
The hissing gas.
I no longer remember.

The first music. Proceeds the beginning. The first stone. Proceeds the wall.

Bubbling up from the hot pressurized deepness, slowly cooled over millions of years, the stones fell in love with oxygen.
Before flowers.
Before the large lizards that bathed in the light above the trees.

Before the trees.
A sweet cologne coughed up by the planets first inhabitants. In love with each other, the gas and stone merge.
A child is borne of this Union.
It crumbles to the cavern’s floor.
Before the first Wooly Rhino
Offers its flesh to feed her children.
Before the first hairs from its hide
Are collected and bound.
She made her first brush
She visits the cavern
Scoops up the dust.
In silence.

A million years pass as she’s sings the next verse to me.

Then a bridge. Long. But easy to traverse.

Another
Verse and my eyes open.
Or is it my heart that now sees? It’s not important.
Color has no relevance in dreams. Conveys no information.
Holds no weight.
Offers no insight.

She draws her brush across my chest with another verse. Crack.
A small rusty tear runs down the stretched canvas of my face,

It drys and crumbles into a fine red powder. She collects that too.
Into her pouch of Magick it’s placed. Gently.

She knows just what it’s for.
She sees just what must be done.
She smiles up at me over silica, boron, and something made of ancient lifeforms,
something forgotten
by even the ancestors of the short-nosed elephants.

Another verse fills the air.
Gently I draw another first breath. A terrible fate awaits.

There.
Do you see it?
Just behind that large tree. Do you see it?

Large oversized teeth gleaming in the African dusk. Covered with what will become the first words. Lyrics to a song she sings many years from now.
A mind more aware than we.

Educated over terrible amounts of time. Quicker, Stronger, more Clever
Sharp black claws that threaten separation. Flesh from bone.

Her from me.
Me from the world.
The first and final ending to all stories. The silence of her absence is hard to bare.

Then another verse drop drop drops from her rain soaked lips and…

A warm golden spell pours over me. She gives birth at that exact moment. Mother to the first spells.
The first Magick any man will know.

It has a different name.
But the meaning is the same.
There is only one true word in the world anyway. Regardless of how many languages learn to speak it.

And another verse
Her power grows.
More familiar. Also less.
Its creative power lies in its ability to destroy.
No teeth or claws stand a chance.
First encountered as we cautiously descended from the trees. When we first stood on just two legs to see
above the strange new grasslands
Turned to look into each other eyes
and for the first time held hands.

It’s the first morning again.
It’s always the first morning. There is no evolution.
There is no such thing as time. It’s always only ever been… The first morning.

It’s the first time. Now
It happens only once you know. That is what makes it true.
It’s the first time. Again.

I squint my eyes.

It’s the first time. I see The glow
It’s the first time. I see The light

It’s the first time. I see The flowers
It’s the first time. I see The difference.

It’s the first time. I see The…

Drop Drop

Drop

There is. Every Thing.

Again

The first morning. The first flower. The first rain.

There is. No Thing.

Drop Drop

Drop

For the first time. It falls
For the first time. It’s named.

For the first time.
It grows.
I open my mouth and drink it in.
The first rain hits the dry clay of the earth
And the flowers near her feet explode with scent

It’s the

first morning

Again

It is.
the
first rain.
You
are the
first woman It is.
the
first morning.

Again

The first kykeon. Consumed The first secret. Whispered. The first elixir. Prepared. The first temple. Erected. The first psychopomp. Born

As
You
Drink
I see through Your eyes,

I feel through, Your heart.

The last kykeon. Consumed. The last secret. Whispered. The last elixir. Prepared.

The last temple. Demolished The last psychopomp. Dead

Together

We are together
We are
the temple We are
The light
We are
The morning

Then as

it falls

We are The rain We are
the flowers

There are
no walls
There never were

It
is

now

The First Morning Again.

∞

d’Çłęƒțïį

Only Friends are Real
Embrace Shulgin-ness
DON’T SCARE THE HORSES
DO BETTER!

≈Ω≈

TheVacantCleft.com
^©2025
d’Çłęfțïį VVækåńțęæ

——CIRCS——

ARIADNE #8 (again)

                     Ω
                  The
              Young,
          Wondering,
          Olympian, 
          the FIRST 
              morning 
                he finds 
                  (again), his
                  ARIADNE
                (waking) 
                THE
                (wander)
                   Godoff 
                       THE 
                   (wander)
                for d’Vine
              I's Naxos I
           peaceful sea I's
         my island home
        place of my birth.
        Aye! Wander I's
         wondering no less
            Wanting I No thing. 
                Seeking I No thing
                        I Cultivate I
                              cultivate 
                                   the vine
                                  wish only I
                                 to tend to
                                to my 
                              vine
                             I am I
                            I,as I,
                           am I on I way
                           daily path I walk,
                              I round I an
                                    large
                                     RED
                                  stone,
                                MOVING 
                          To-from each.
                      from vine to vine
                   sippin’ a wei of d'Oine
                   no I is I is ever new 
                     I always do it too
                      no need I a thing. 
                        needing not I
                      having it all
                    But it’s is
                  not as it 
                was I
              before 
             I bow now I
                 SHE  IS?
                   Here!
                      How?  
                        Why
                         Now?
                    What fates 
                have suddenly 
             shifted? But 
          questions such as this
                             are 
                        quickly 
                    dismissed
           I is MINE in error?
        I’s eyes that function
         In the MAL or wrong, 
           I be the one thats lost 
               abandoned to the sea. 
                   Not her. but it I’s is in,
                          need of being found,
                           IS I thats lost a gin.
                              As we taking each
                                 other in I see 
                                 attraction
                                mixed
                            with
                        fear
                     In
                 her
              eyes
          She sees 
           the same
              In mine. 
                 “””The..
                    GRAv,
                c    ‘ IT
                  c     Y's
                     grati-
                     tude
                     of 
                   our
                meeting
            PULLS on me.
         Slowly, I advance
        She does not run. We.
          Becoming immortal I
             Residing I on WE
                     '''Holy\,,,
                    Mtn. Eh
                  TOP a-
                 aGApi
                 mou
                   eyes
                    I knowing
                     I knew not I's
                           Know I now
                     searching all eyes
                       I searching I was
                   was I was Everything. 
                  I’s was wanting? Aye!
               Every little no Every I
               not a thing I's needed
                no thing had that I
                no I had I that I
                   Knew. Not I Now
                      I know NOW  
                        I know I 
                          loŌked
                         her I’s, 
                        IN 
                       her        Ω
                     eyez ons 
                  I Aye! the I’s
                   Have all the
                  the islands
                  eyE Says
                    I’s is
                        iSIs
                          IS
                         I
                        ! 
                       :
                       '

for Carl, RPAC, THEE Ἥρως τοῦ παρόντος

∞

d’Çłęƒțïį

Only Friends are Real
Embrace Shulgin-ness
DON’T SCARE THE HORSES
DO BETTER!

≈Ω≈

TheVacantCleft.com
^©2025
d’Çłęfțïį VVækåńțęæ

——CIRCS——