Akashic fire through the veins

original poetry

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I jiggle the wire to reconnect the circuit
so populations of precepts can sprout
in the redundancies of yellowed language,
inconstant microbes that betray regimes
with their mouths of lightning:
Now I am connected
to the debilitating current;
now I am the nexus of its swarm
as long as my vigil lasts
and I sit watching the etherious procession
of glyphs and sigils bursting through
some invisible veil to read me paragraphs
from the akashic records.

Ancestries of temperature and flux
in the mote breeze—unmoving mote thought,
walls of their fortresses springing up around me,
grasping handholds in the stagnant air.
They map their passions over my contours;
honey spills from their world to this world,
conducting the electricity of the innocent,
I am caught up in its glacial reverie of smoke.
This moment is a whole world built for reverence
of a spark and the chemistries it catylzes.
I am scribe for an illegible council,
they bloom purple fire through my lips
to ink biographies of heroes inside urns
and seal them with a cork of tourmaline.

With my pinky finger I connect capacitors,
nurturing this instant with akashic fire
so it never ends.

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Written by
@d-pend
3/30/18
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Images by

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1 — "Purple sky" by Coltagraphy [cropped]
2 — "Fire" by Thomasdelonge
3 — "Purple haze" by JoakimOlofsson

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