The Forest, 24 October 2015
Today we feed the woods our souls. We hand-bind ourselves to the soil from which we came, to which we will return: black to brown, brown to black; black to black to back against Mother’s misty call. We disintegrate, absolve, into column inches, decaying status, sweet decadence, stacked stein auf stein, stein auf stein* upon our chests until ribs cracking into organs declare mortality. Somewhere, somewhere the wind cries not “Mary!” but “Tell me, child, did you remember to pray? Did you remember to brace yourself against the oak and allow ancestors to course through you?” Psychosis lies in separation. Psychosis lies in separation. Commodity employs. Turn skyward. Kiss the sun.
* German for “stone on stone, stone on stone.”