impossible measure

 

clown shoes…

 

neut susurrates my

name into the inkwell

om in which i flotsam.

i follow his voice to a

tangerine door near

the surface, pull it

open. the inner space

of sun and sky, the

outer of void colored

plasma spill into each

other in a flood of

empirical being and

ineffable knowing

rising and falling in

chorus. i filter into my

eyes to find neut in

full lotus floating just

above the ground.

storming sweat and

tears, he falls over

onto the grass beside

me. he speaks aloud

through heaves and

breaks,

 

you were dead.

 

i sit up to assess set

and setting, the

noontide backyard of

my home in

the podunk heart of

a metropolitan beast.

my reply a dry rustle,

 

i was nowhere. then,

i heard your call, saw

your light, and

followed it home. how

did we make it here?

 

he waves a scrying

cloud and telepaths,

 

submerged in a

current of demons,

held cradled in a

tangle of violet claws,

all but drained of a

drip of life, you grew

wings of great power

beyond your control.

the shrapnel viscera

and twitching limbs

of squealing devils

painted at our feet, i

tackled you into the

car and drove us

off the edge of the

pyramid, screaming

your name.

 

he paused to make

welled eyed contact

then continued,

 

when the front end

punctured the

snow globe surface,

i found myself

swimming in the

nowhere toward a

lavender door to my

body beside you in

the grass.

 

we emerge from

reverie, conduct

the tin foil ritual in

the occulted twilight

with immaculate

harmony, verbatim

our allies’ instruction.

 

a fog of intent

descends and

demands we

define ourselves

and our purpose.

 

how could we

possibly define

ourselves?

we are beings of

impossible measure.

beyond definition,

stalwart denizens of

the ineffable name is

the nearest answer,

but it’s more

consultation

than truth.

 

a sigil of power

appears before us in

the fire.

 

tin foil astronauts club

manifests with gusto.