digigoth: a spellbook for the new sorcerer (new work 9)

This narrative recently divided into two paths and the reader was given a choice:

1. To follow the Dangling Yarn

2. To follow the Sinking Lure.

This poem immediately follows the Dangling Yarn (part 7).

Read previous pieces here

This book is winging through the ethers in search of an illustrator and a publisher.  If you are interested, please drop me a line.

How to read the pieces from this book:

1. Click on the embedded link to the [music] in the title of the poem.

2. Listen on repeat while reading.

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Fig 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34. Remembering  [Playlist: Tool, Lateralus]

as in all transitions from light to dark

at first there seems nothing but dark

this is the moment when most turn back

and so the dark remains

a threshold

beyond which

every fear fattens on shadows

                                                            mind your step

he says, opening a hatch in the deck

taking my hand as we descend

down and left

down and down again and always left

until I am dizzy with twist

and my head folds forward into a dive

toward my left shoulder

nothing in any direction but

heavy air and each

solid step rising to meet

the foot reaching

faster   his voice distant, dim

down and left             though rough fingers

laced with mine drag

an arm that must be mine though it seems distinctly

down and

left

                                                            of me

this floating head

or headless knowing

sense not pulled down to an object but

everywhere at once           trying to condense

against a rising scent that’s growing loud

like sun heating asphalt

after  heavy rain                                                                      down and left of

a string of days being plucked

before now      soon and          never chord

a sting of yellow         pink and pinker           deeping down red of light through eyelids

together blinding line of bright

a level  spinning end over end

into a dive down and left toward

the strip of light beneath a door

 

whoa, steady 

he opens a door into a room lying on its side

pressing my head gently against his chest

as the walls distort and twist

though easing with each of his heart’s pulses

my body

seems not yet to have returned to feeling

and the sunlight makes no sense

we should be deep below decks

look there

he says

his voice muffled

strange and large

his finger pointing straight ahead                                                                              

against the light into

the gently swaying surface

of a mirror

the plucked and battered raven gazing back

from the folds of a coat          as his hand reaches to extract me