One night, I awoke remembering
the end of a dream like a movie trailer
Between shrouds of murky clouds unfolding
I saw the ancient wooden face carved on a totem
Perhaps an anonymous spokesman at death’s door
Perhaps my projection, just my reflection
or a phantom, a disturbing conundrum, I dare not say
I felt a withering mortality at my core
Yet, it contained all my living tree rings within
my years of stories, husky or thin
This shaman totem mask began to slowly speak
At first its mystical verse was somewhat oblique
Then in rich, tranquil tones, in humane inflexions
the face spoke, redolent and subliminal in my thoughts
Breathing deeply, I intuited what I was taught
Some seek refuge in still flower gardens
in stationary reflective pools of quiescence
in glistening golden altars to numina
But these material places are ever-changing
Illumination is the great revelation rearranging
of the consciousness animating all things
The modern world is an awe-choice saturation
Of stuffness and people,
A punguage,
An allcode,
The hash of all cyphers, nodes and codices
Ever scribed, wrote and written,
Bitten off, stolen or torn,
The mash of all knowledge,
The thrash of all oars televisual,
The splice of all strings
From one edge of time to the other,
The open oeuvre of everything,
An omnithought of toot,
The sum of all inflexions,
Ancient and phonetic,
Yet provisional,
A mighty metaforest pointing
To the centre
Of you know what.
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