Hypercube Of Enchantment~

Between the beginning

and the end

my life is linked

it is set off by trees

and concludes with trees;

in the middle

the hypercube

unfolds its infinite edges

and emits the enchanted book of days

 

This is what keeps the dawn

and the dusk

from collapsing

into the pleats of my many skirts

keeps the colors together for another symmetrical day

 

It begins with the engine

the inhale accelerates at the first set of pines

with the world receding in the contracted distance;

life becomes a dancing pupil

 

Forty five minutes become a story

for leaves

and branches;

sometimes Pan is a wood blur

keeping speed in the bike lane

next to my car

sometimes I pull over

and he leans back in the seat

my latte scrutinized under his equine nostrils

flaring

 

There is a cube inside a cube

with linear leans in musical notes

sounds that strip the blues out of my jeans

and press my hands into my naked torso

snapping twigs

between dimensional poetry

and skin

 

My seclusion

my charmed peace

where wild turkeys peck at the fragments of the sky

and deer rise from a pool of blood at the side of the road

and breathe again

where hunters become immobile blemishes

green moss grown around

their rifles;

death does not move here

 

This is enchantment

I remember intimately

infinite forests inside infinite reflections

Buddha feeding wolves from a jar of honey

pixies with sharp dreams rooting for the mandrake soul

between the arbor of my curved ribs

and the fronds of green growing from my hips

shoots and wildflowers tying me back around an old bole

that never forgot the girl with the fractal imagination;

trees have this long memory thing

it’s not in the rings

but the roots

that bind us all

to impossible weathers inside the climate

of our own tapestry

 

Between point one

where life has one dimensional needs

and point two

where life contracts into the night

is a double helix of forty five minute dreams

inside the enchanted hypercube

of a commute

that is a myth

making ride

all its own;

this place, where the trees

line thick dreams

and cubes become infinite chimeras

within figments

is where

I am alive

in my naked mind

learning my flexible soul

like inverted

braille

 

 

 

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Reviews

[OT]

this is brilliantly done selene - a twisting world of cubes within cubes - "There is a cube inside a cube
with linear leans in musical notes
sounds that strip the blues out of my jeans" - love that and the last 2 stanzas are poems themselves - they were my favourite - you pick up on the subtle and obvious and blend it all together well here - surreally wrapped up with myths and logic - great title too! nice!

[Gilad Levanon]

This is fantastic. I'm not going to say what's good about it because everything is.
"trees have this long memory thing
it’s not in the rings
but the roots
that bind us all
to impossible weathers inside the climate
of our own tapestry"
Utterly brilliant and beautiful. Thank you.

[Desert Dreamer]

The trees hold the secrets...and you are the goddess...this is magical, has given me inspiration.

[Antonio Valentino]

thank you for the seat next to you on your commute in a bullet train...

what wondrous flashes your eyes see as life runs the other way, against the grain, leaving splinters of buildings and minutes without faces...

your trip tunneled right through me and back out again through a sigh..

another hole left behind, for the light to scar it smooth...

[Aidz]

Unfolded and twisted, selected and discarded, a sweeping performance of life as seen through the green eyes that is Selene

[anaisbelieve]

amazing, i love it.

[Crow]

Thank you for a wonderful peek into your psyche. Your pallette painted a wonderful picture of both fantacy and mystery, while stimulating my imagination.

Awesome!

[JelliFyshKissUs]

"My life is linked
It is set off by trees
And concludes with trees"

I usually do not quote the works of others in my review. I believe emotions I gather from the poem stem from every line. But there is something profound and vital in those lines that I just can't shake.
Your symmetry with life, length, and limitless dreams is a paragon of infinite proportions. Something in this poem is so much more than poetry, or Seleney, or an underland fairytale. It is us. It is they. It is we. It is the ever-existing symmetry of us all and the way it functions (whether we are conscious of it or not). Something that keeps the respectful harmony of nature, the natural, the necessity in life that is always revolving. A cycle. And never for a moment do you take that oneness of all creation for granted whether you are sipping ink or air. Such beauty in the symmetry of life, loss, and imagination. Everything is linked. I wish all would notice it.

[Crowley]

I had mentioned fractals in another review and Robin just mentioned it again, I just watched a documentary on them and your work and this poem certainly, so remind me fractals. Layered and deep, consistent and microscopic giving giving way to macroscopic and all wrapped around a life that recognizes truth, beauty and consistency that isn't readily available to everyones eye. This was killer cool.