Vertigone

that half self that dust devil that
storm chaser, that dark drunken nothing
neither brother nor son nor husband nor father
that devil that cannot that will not
am not, never am, drowned in darkness

that devil chuckle that angel whisper
come alive come alive come alive
and that dark rhythm, that one last drum
that heart that fakes that fist that fails

all gods all laws all promises driven down
deep and dark and memories of dust
that dust that brings that sickness that desire
for the centre, the centre, please god, any god,
that place of rest at last

that one sick moment of, that deafening spiral
into the self, that self I am not,
that am not me that moves as we
that cannot see that cannot be that free

that voice that lost itself in the garden
that garden of neverending bodies
that bloody grass, that dark green horizon,
that silent immortal pantheon of loss
in you and me and all of we who see