Tuesday, October 17, 2006

A Head Touched

© 1983, Troy Kevin Spears

Touching the circle of my head,
fragile circle of myth -
mother, monster, master, and mission -
pushing me thru amphetamine eternities
of memory and desire
tied and twisted into a being with little use
for a timeline or daily planner.
Goal-directed smile, inward stare, Oedipus-haunted eye,
tearful laughing moment of gods, goddesses, and godlings,
tearful laughing circle -

laughing god,
tortured myth -

empty circle of a head,
a head touched,
fragile.
It shimmered and rained thru air.
The shards of myth are now media,
are growing, obeying an inner law,
becoming childrened, populating themselves.
New nation, new priesthood,
glistening network, machine, contract, intrigue,
dancing beneath a too-young sun.

I touch the fragile circle of my head,
fragile circle of a myth, broken,
and voilà, is now media -
and the medium (median?) is the message.
Transcendent eternity and transfixed moment
find each other through oscillations
of mind and heart and sense.

Buddhist calls this
The Thingness of Things Seen
and is done.

The Son of Man has no place to lay his head
and must continue.

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