Bewilderhof – 8

January 10, 2015 § 1 Comment

Chapter 8
– a void, dense

of his world
returned in drips
first birds then bits
of goat bells wind
chimes of strung shells
shutters flapping
that had been
sucked into
the vortex
came creeping
around trees and
rolled like fog
across the wide walk
that lead to the house

concrete poured
in other childhoods
preserved imprints of
small hands &
small feet
& small events
initialed dated

not the walk of
the boy Bewilderhof
who now,
as a balding man
looking for a hat
blown off in
recent maelstrom,
read what was etched
below his feet

“…regardless of perception
the vibration achieved
is the same whether
the fiber
that anchors
you to this world
is plucked or bowed

you can:
• ignore the signals
• misinterpret them
• think them ‘intrusive’

either way
you will
eventually ebb
from one being
into another

but first
you must be

an unavoidable
discharging of self
by cosmic doctrine

it is an
inevitable transition
every sentient
attempts to stall
but you
must not”

he doesn’t remember
bending over the fresh mud
carefully inscribing the
but memory
of afternoon starlight,
instant deafness
and enduring a thrashing
with a cement smeared stick
was still
very clear

that swarm has troubled me
for many a year
– he thought

and still
the woodpile beckoned

(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead


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