nΩtes on the deliverance øf a new friEND : decelerator

I've been accused of taking things personally, "too serious" says the trickster!

but Death is my Dance, Death is my Game

tragic is my comedy

and with a grin and gallows humour I blow my trombones

haunting hunting trills on ribcage xylophones

a smiling skull sighing out a groaning moaning poem

to annihilate your dreams of Home.

Señor Coyote, I may not understand your dance (I'm not omniscient, even at my best)

but I understand the bee's dance

the tree's dance 

when the wind wilds the way

before a thunderstorm collapses the world and

sends you quivering cowering underneath my laughing leafing beard.

Your speed will be needed Little Brother, because

I am a fucking glacier

a bone-bleaching desert,

the deep ocean beyond sight of land

that ancient battlefield behind the tobacco farm out past the church

that glows godless spectral at 3am soul's midnight

as Valhalla spews forth ragged companies of all my

special sons and daughters

 I am

the deep down things of long-dead Gods and Outer Time

the swamping corpse of rivers dying

that hole in the world you can't define behind your eyes

labyrinthine wake-ing dreaming you can't divine and can't divide.

Señor Coyote, the raccoon has your magic,

and an opposable thumb,

and superior climbing ability,

and a willingness to sink to the sewer to survive,
My master lockpick when keys
are lost to lycanthropy

but if you seek to sneak me, searching, peeking for sneaking ankles to bite

the ash you'll taste in mouth is I, as We wheel and caw

contemplating murder.

Señor Coyote, I can feel your sneaking footsteps swift across my shoulders.

I hear you running over the ground down bones of a million of your brothers,

broken-backed by brighteyed wolves howling voids at starring skies,

by relentless Time, or stealth-perched panther's eyes.

come inside the crucible, the hurricane of Nature's Eye and learn to teach the I and I to Die.