The hum of brotherhood,
ice and cold
as though drawing a universe into oneself and collapsing it,
the plow and field in ancient memory, and now:
“I am the essence of myself, distilled and then diluted.”
gripped by a hand (not yet 21)
warmed as if by the sun (unseen)
(never felt) (foreign) (nameless)
and separation is almost sweet.
Felt rather than heard: Carman,
mythical and looming.
And no man was denied his fair portion,
their eyes dark as whirlpools as Dionysus cast his spell of
veiling and unveiling.
Poured, chugged, consumed, swallowed, incorporated, assimilated,
devoured, taken, reconstituted, born, transformed, put
was how it felt when the brash youths, swift of foot, took
of the essence and of the spirit and of the secret self,
once hidden behind layers of reserve, but now clearly
evident in spit and speech.
A joyful high note, unmuddled,
turned into the wailing of a
the self now yearning through molecularities
the peculiar mixture that made up identity, fullness,
To be hollow is to be hollow is to be hollow,
limbs greeting empty spaces to discover
caught in transit forever
(between two floors and destinies)
caught in passing,
ephemeral and constant.
Disintegration and distance,
dust to dust:
cast out of brotherhood,
turned monster by the monstrous—
The plow and field in ancient memory.