Omer 10 - Syncretic Movement

Haunted by plasmic ascendents long stranger to me,

surviving bottle neck and extermination,

I’ve been turned ghost in the desert, mourner by the sea.

So I see with mine eyes, wide and strained:

coyote loping upwards dunes by coast and by mountain.

At the root of it all lies the spark of it all,

truths found between musical metrics —

syncretic, electric, let slip through cracks.

Clattering teeth from the cold foreign to me.

Chattering teeth in languages not meant for me.

Methodical through sweeps of words well meaning but unknowing,

calculating to the atom the things unknowing.

Dissolving, deceiving, revealing, reveling —

I don’t know how to remain compelling,

don’t know how to care to be compelling.

Existence is my goal while I’m told to

mangle myself into forms built to break me.

So I eat my heart to better understand myself,

to find the space where I lost myself,

to forgive the epigenetic nightmare that is myself.

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Omer 9 — 9th life < previous || next > Omer 11 — Synaptic lunar saltation

the start: Omer 1 — Pomegranate