The First Morning
Angel Duhst part 1
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 born.
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
forgotten even by 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?
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 lips learn to speak it.
Another verse
and 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
There in the strange new grasslands
we 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 is 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.
∞
Only Friends are Real
Embrace Shulgin-ness
DON’T SCARE THE HORSES
DO BETTER!
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