Gold Sun Rising~

I woke up with the sun in my throat this pre dawn, the night insisted I take those damn dreams and key them before I forget them.

Did you know, a certain sect of the Dacians believed dreams get caught in the sacral nerves? Like roots and fibers inside the earth, they carry the past and the future.

The sun says in this tilty dream "You're always cold, cold cold. I will rest inside you one day. Not too long now. Not too long at all."

Moon slips in between the glass and the screen "Get up girl, get up, giddy up, hurry up now before you forget."

Me pulls the dream up out of my sacral depository, and, with Moon resting above the diamond in my ear, I make hazy coffee, tasting the skin pieces grafting themselves to my bones. They cling like determined caterpillars to a tree. I am a tree, a crazy, branched thing, eyeing Moon, tasting the dream squirming in my palm.

"Hurry up, giddy up.”

Night presses himself between the breathing slits of glass doors, his dark blue hands in pressure between my shoulder blades. Stars burn in his onyx temples, pour their molten implosion into my open mouth of wonder. A galaxy struggles in my larynx, a spiral rich with life begs at the entrance to my lungs.

Sun takes himself through my hip, as if I were hollow bird bones, flares in the sacred sacral beginning, opening my vertebrae like white petals. I am growing, growing a world inside each crucial fragment of each crucial chakra. A field of tulips whispers stem deep in calcified runes.

Moon pins my moth skin to Night, soothing the invasive element with nursery rhymes. Leather straps from Jupiter, ankle bells from the clavicle of Mars.

Once upon a Time I had known this burning, that primal chemistry that pulls two bodies into a singular orbit, spinning out of control, creating something. Night does this to me. It rips me out of skin with careless abandon and turns my body to fire. Penetrates the mind until every shred of control is stripped.

Maybe I’m telling you too much that doesn’t relate to tonight.

But it’s never easy to focus when Night decides to visit and brings along Sun and Moon.

On ground, on knees, I watched the Sun rip himself apart in the sky. Me, smiling, thinking, “I will never be cold again.”


The keyboard opens its body for the stains pouring from my fingertips.
Moon watches avidly, Night plays with my morning braid.
Sun sleeps on the thighs of the east.

I scribble for hours, half the letters worn off the keyboard. I don't even know what I’m writing until it’s done.



I will never be cold again . . . .

 

 

 

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Reviews

[Lilly Negoi]

this is a masterpiece :). so far i admired you for your poetry - now prose is added to that, and parts of this piece will remain carved in my memory for a very long time from now on:
"I am a tree, a crazy, branched thing, eyeing Moon, tasting the dream squirming in my palm."
"The keyboard opens its body for the stains pouring from my fingertips.
Moon watches avidly, Night plays with my morning braid.
Sun sleeps on the thighs of the east."
LOVE IT!

[asdarkeyesclose]

'Sun takes himself through my hip, as if I were hollow bird bones, flares in the sacred sacral beginning, opening my vertebrae like white petals.'

i was going to highlight my favourite lines but there were just too many! although 'Sun sleeps on the thighs of the east' and 'I will never be cold again . . . .' are just too good not to mention! i was struck by the compelling language, your affinity to the elements and the way your descriptions fall, often strung out by an unsettling relationship. you see, feel and hear and we are left astonished, caught up in the fabrics of your perception, mesmerized. fantastic.

[Robin]

Senses reaching for secrets , the essence of being

this glows

[Ed Hart]

when i was a boy scout we rubbed to sticks together to create a little warmth...boy, did i have a lot to learn

[LilyT]

You take my go damn breath away. Prognostication through prose. You enhance the Nostradamus element by breathing intimate particulates through the patterns of expression.
You must have woven some kind of elemtal enchantment into this, because my soul is jumping under my skin.
Liliana nailed it. This is a masterpiece.
This is prophetic prose.
You deliver it like a true master. A true scryer.
That Dacian blood in you is strong.
I read this four times already, and going back to read it again. You make my mind go tectonic! (: You also scare the hell out of me. But it's that excited kind of fear when one doesn't really believe it's all bad around the corner.
You are a go damn amazing writer, dreamer, woman, EVERYTHING!