the journey to aztalan/eternal

return to driftless

 

brother moa spins our tin foil

bottle in the driveway, points

us toward the platform

pyramid mounds of aztalan

to kiss the tabletop peaks

with our knees in the sunrise

on our eternal return to driftless.

we three with smoking holes in

our shirts from fresh sigils

branded in our unstruck centers

stare out windows into futures

ancient and infant in silent hum.

forever of few words, i fill in moa

and ask after his sigil story. he

listens then obliges waving to

pax, a wolf cub sold to him as a

siberian husky, with his thumb

over his shoulder,

 

we were in the dune ruins when

a demon swarm swam in from

the nth and surrounded us. he

uncloaked himself as my ally,

grew into a thirteen point lobo

bronco and with me astride,

tore them into flesh and blood

confetti. night fell and we made

a fire which bore the sigil and a

curious fog, one punched me

from my shoes, the other

judged my intent and joined me.

we tentatively umbrellaed home

in the noontide twilight and then

drove directly to you.

 

the parking lot empty, we flow

effortlessly over the three rolling

mounds, pouring first over the

northwestern burial. grateful we

hang eleven off the crest of the

greatest in the swell. the system

sends a sentry to piss dixie at

our heels, we whet our step to

to keep our feet dry. we warm

a bench on the west branch of

rock river in a disco of sunlight

broadcast across the crawling

water. we gather intel from the

ether, carve the moment in

digital cement before persisting

the path.

through wormhole highways in

fraud-time, over antique autumn

firework hills, we float our bottle

passed the abandoned bones

of calendar barns to the sacred

land of our tin foil sanctuary. we

wash onto the rainbow sands of

the infinite shores of our ever

intended dream space,

making our eternal return to

driftless.