Many Musics, Ninth Series (iii)

[Cenacle]

li. Yesterday is Everything

“To dwell is to leave a trace.”
--Jorie Graham

Once. Twice. Breathe. Relax.
Let history’s testament fall to sand.
Let the trail of old blood diminish away.
Let deepest love cup, not contain, & thus
learn by release. Breath. Relax.

A dream. My brother & I building a wall,
a construction in words, languages old
like frail, warm skin; others newer, glowing
with seed, humming, partway back to stars.
I pause my work, larving up syllables &
stones, look up, see your laughing face,
the many of you I’ve known. Common despair.

Once. Twice. Breathe. Relax.
Let the stars between dull hours be more to guide.
Let our humility sup on every beast & bug
& vine & stone & new song we aren’t.
Let the gorgeous rubble of dream become
more the tale we yearn to tell.

We begin to travel along this wall,
find crevasses to hold to as more time
passes than ought, years for days, centuries,
we cling to this wall as it drives furiously
through history. It’s an ugly wall to fast
to, colored like old blood, & its path goes
jagged & uncertain. Loses faith, as old things
do. My brother won’t let go me, the path,
till I make him do. Let me go.

Once. Twice. Breathe. Relax.
Let the kind hours explain the world to you.
Twining fingers, silver falls of leaves,
meals desperate & late & fine.
There was an hour when you could’ve flown,
did.
I’ll keep singing this.

When I let go of the wall, I wake
to my chamber. I’m alone. Shoulder aches.
The brother of my dream is the mutt suddenly
at my door. His ragged fur, sloppy tongue,
excited breathing in my face. “I want
to tell us both this story, if you’ll listen.”
His tail wags, a yes, or maybe he just
loves me.

******

lii. Dreaming Coming Stars

“Cease the tide by cursing the moon?
Crush the drum heads, men will pound their
stones, twice harder!
Bind a woman’s fire & she will lay dreaming
coming stars!”

Everyone laughs. The King in good spirits.
A fairly calm sea. The Island near or
soon will be.

I pet your shaggy head. My brilliant fool.
You enjoy being a dog, permission to feel
everything in a moment. Piss freely.

“What his crew didn’t know was that
the King had contacted my brother,
Benny. Traveler in dreams. You. I think.”

Or some kind of you. An herb he drank
later that night, kind of a poison,
but if survived enough, a deeper entry
to Dreamland. Passage, movement.

He bid his brothers good night & they
drank on till very late. His mood
gave them hope.

You’d had none till the last meeting with
the Travelers before setting off. Convinced
you’d only find your beloved via dreamways,
you’d promised them a more honored
place in your future kingdom. The Island
would ever welcome Travelers. For the herb.

Now I writhe in my bed, poison drunk
in my belly, a cloth stuffed in my
mouth so none may hear my cries. I have
to survive death, alone, uncomforted,
& the door will open. Strange, there
are two. I choose the one to dreams
this time.

You begin to doze, lazy, know this tale,
both, either. “It was you allowed him
his grief, his absolute despair. She saw, finally,
understood, that yours was to find the Island,
find the Tangled Gate. Yours was to save
the world.” I shake my head, seeing again
mutt where I saw my King. I’d served
no man till I knew you. None since.
Knowing your grief better than you did, why it so,
it carved my heart a groove close by yours.

“There will be two,” you told me that night,
when he let us alone, King & his Queen
together a last time. “Give all to the one
who comes to you first by the sea.
Having done so, the second will come to you,
& you may grow old finally.” Kissed him last as wife.

You tire of my Tower & want to run.
I let you chase from my offices outdoors,
my day & night without end, my gift from her.

I walk more stiffly than I once did,
the Architect grows old too, eventually.
But each time you visit, Benny, each time
I am able to form you mutt at least,
when I cannot form a man, I reck your
sacrifice anew, that it was you who must keep her
till the last, you who salved & broke the King’s heart,
finally, so he would let go, & save the world.

******

liii. Between the Night & Day

Between the night & day without end
that you gifted me, a dusk, a dawn,
where I love you still.

What leaves last, if leaves at all,
are the smaller things, cooler moments
when we simply shared space.

When you studied the Tangled Gate through
my Tower office telescope, you wouldn’t
breathe. I’d listen from across the shadowy
spectres of the room. Not a breath.
You’d move the glass, inch by inch,
study the maps, move some more,
testing what you saw with what you
encountered in Dreamland. A sudden connection,
now a breath. Knowing it wouldn’t be
in that spot next time, knowing it,
the Gate was like that. Still.

You left little scent those many years.
Any man would have sniffed after you, the King’s
ripening daughter, but little to compare
with girls who vied in your shadow, it’s like
you disappeared in your departures. Remained
in more obscure ways.

It was your passion to know your own
truths that rivens through me even now.
How did I come to know what you were,
when were you more than beautiful, lonely
& too intelligent Princess to me? Was it
before or after I let you escape the Island?

I had chased across centuries to find
a way to save the world. And it was you.
I believed you were from another place,
had come here, & the world of men aborn.

And then I learned my own story too.
I was from that far place, from Emandia,
as well. We had been landed on far ends
of the story. Yours to grow with the world,
find its beauties, mine to review its finale.

I love you still. We were both contrived
for our task, however different.
An attraction set along our border
to assure we’d find each other,
the eros between us the sparkling fuel
by which we’d know the right world
true, & no others, & move on bloodless otherwise.

My mutt won’t come near me when
my dusky walk emits like this one.
Contrivances aren’t suppose to love
each other. Why do these dusks & dawns
disturb me more? What is missing?

I love you still. I sit in my office,
now, tonight, & I look over to my old
telescope, perpetually pointed to the Gate,
whatever world. I see you there, now,
tonight, breathless, studying, studying,
& I am breathless too, I was then,
& you are so close, I’ve come the world
& its centuries to be in this room with you.
Why can’t I stand? Why can’t I approach you,
to explain what I know, what I don’t,
& present myself to your womanly gaze,
for your womanly assessment, & perhaps
a shy smile, & again a breath, scent of aster.

******

liv. Scent of Aster (Other Beauties)

We came from Emandia via deeper dreaming
through the Red Bags. You & I were
one man, brother, Benjamin, Benny, compelled
from one trunk to two branches, two men.
I to the building, what they sneering called
architecting of the world of men. Sneering
because despair, because too many failed
worlds. Because only madness builds
again & again, same hands, same tools,
same materials, & smiling expects
a novel result. You were the but, Benny,
the wild card in me extracted to run free.

You laughed, you raced us up hills,
climbed the tallest trees, led the songs
wherever we traveled & invited to a meal
& a fire. Your shoulders strong, your body
as broad & dense as mine lanky, divided
between even your deep shouts & love of
open woods & my retreat to murk & thick books.
You didn’t know we were twain for purpose,
by day, by night, by sun, by moon, by waking,
by sleep. We receded from each other slowly,
a breath, an untwined finger at a time.

Perhaps it began with your discontent
with lovers. No matter how she approached,
shy, brusk, a girl for the gentle slow taking
or one to bind or be bound by leather rags,
heated with claws or serrated blade, you fretted
& hurried too soon from her. Flaws, always flaws
you saw in each girl or woman. The shade
of a cheek, the roundness of a breast,
the want to be solely, wildly possessed, the growl
for you & a dozen other heavy-cocked men
in their turn. Flaws, always flaws.

You dreamed more. We ceased our travels
because you liked the strange pale woods
we had come. “There are other beauties
than the ones we have known,” you’d say
to me, often, like a prayer, like a tic.
Kept me near for when you woke,
witness to your half-mumbled visions,
convinced there was an inner space
shared by all, a perfect world, a Dreamland,
did you contrive it yourself? Did it contrive
you? I would try to tell you what we were
but you smiled like it didn’t matter.
I asked you, “What other beauties?” &
you said, “Come with me, brother,
let’s make them together, forever!”

And then you were gone. Gone to Dreamland,
become Dreamland. I was alone in your
pale woods. I could no more find you
while asleep than awake. What did this
mean? Our trunk was reft.

Eventually I mourned & let you go.
I stopped looking for you in my dreams
& began shaping tools there to bring back,
building tools, tools to fix the flaws
in the world. A world demur enough
to make men want to defend & protect
her every breath & bloom. A world
growling powerful enough to twist their greed,
to conquer & tame, twist it crying in
their minds, come for me now, come for me,
your miracle world, its every beauty,
& release. Come again, & release.

It was near the end of the world when
you finally let us meet again. I was come
in Dreamland to an old memory of
our pale woods, where I lost you.
I was leaving in the morning to travel
back the years to the Island, Tangled Gate,
find & fix the flaws. Hopeless, a woman’s scent
in my mind still. Tired, her embrace
easy cost to let this next imperfect world go.

Came bounding up to me, barking,
joyous, wet-tongued, ugly beautiful
mutt & you, you, Benny! Barks, licks,
pants, what you could give me
to hold of you, so I would not ask your
help mending the flaws, so if I failed
I did with your love & no more.
I held you, hugged you, worried to your
glory long fingernails in your shaggy
fur. Woke with your scent in my nose,
my cheeks drying from your many kisses.

I left for the Island, the Gate,
& willing forgot you until later,
until I was retired here, day & night
forever, & when we met it was
in waking this time. I had nothing
left to ask of you. You still came as mutt,
& neither of us pressed man from you.

Perhaps where my discontent. Perhaps
I want you man not mutt in my arms?
Perhaps begin our travels anew,
having saved this world, flaws & all,
our turn together again? You sniff,
you bark, you lick. Pee & roll happily in shit.
I want other beauties than these, brother,
scent of aster in my mind. Your old laughter too.

******

lv. Deeper Creature Time (i)

“Deeper Creature time,” he writes,
finding his old notes ledger &
resuming a fresh page. “Looking for
a gape in my world, I keep thinking
about this, about how little I know
about it.

“They weren’t from Emandia as we were.
They were native to this world, the Island,
its White Woods. Endless, pathless White Woods.”

Pauses. Looks around the nearly ageless
dank of his office. Its books piled high,
containers of herbs & potions, trinkets
from the many places & times he’d
travelled. Smells of decay dried to dust.
His desk really a great table,
covered too but for the area before him,
cleared away periodically.

Himself dressed in soft rags, noone to show
for, shine for, bother about. His body
nearly immortal but old with patina,
time & sadness.

Resumes. Struggles. “Or maybe it should
be called Deeper Creature timelessness.
For they do not live with awareness
of time. Shackled to its passing &
finitude. For the, there is no time.

Nods. “Theirs is an existence outside time’s
passing, like my own, but that they
aren’t even aware of time. I am.
I am made by hands, yet I am a man.”

Picks up his ledger & on a whim brings
it to the Tower office’s front window,
near to his great spy-glass & thick maps
of the Tangled Gate. Where she’d sat.
He sniffs, can’t help himself. Just memories.

Table not a quarter the size of his own,
he moves things around, settles in.
Dust, displaced, stays displaced, awake
again, wondering.

And, there below, the Gate? This still
the Island? & that yet the Gate?

He mulls. This discontent won’t salve itself,
nor will sitting in this office do any better.
The Gate?

Nothing to lose but his loneliness.
Stands, looks around, finds his long
unworn overcoat. Feels odd,
like he won’t be back here a long while,
like it’s time. For me, there is time.
At least for now.

******

lvi. Deeper Creature Time (ii)

The Gate never changes. So massively
tall, & its legend where its scrollwork peaks:
“For those lost.”

I enter & there is the Fountain,
perpetually crumbling yet ever gushing,
insisting a drink. A drink, & a choice.
I briefly consider declining but
realize I need the Gate’s help.
Whatever that might be, I need it.

So I take my two-handed scoop of
the cold, tingling water, music to taste,
water to listen to? Drink it down deep,
& move past the Fountain.

They knew me once. We became friends
& together helped the Princess succeed.
How do I reach them now? Remember
my old advice to her, tap my head once,
my heart once, sniff twice, & begin to
follow somewhat seeming random
paths of vines & stones. Sky above
a murky grey. My breath slows nicely,
I feel my body in a less heavy way.

But eventually I slow, frustrated.
It is possible to fail & exit the Gate
a failure? Why this quick to quit in me?

Come on. “Come on!” I begin to call,
wordlessly, call & call, I cry &
howl, moan unto hmmmmmm, summon
all the hope & hopeful purpose I have.
Come on. “Come on!”

Softly, at first, then again a little louder,
something echoes through the air &
through my mind, a cackle, another,
many cackles! Swooping & swirling
around me, ringing, echoing, echoing,
then echoing the echoes, it cannot be but
my old friend the wee Imp! Can it be?
It must.

******

lvii. Deeper Creature Time (iii)

The cackles continue their echoing
play, & I follow. Follow, & yet no
closer. I must faster. I must play.

I think of old times, the White Bunny,
& I try. Long ears, glowing fur, pink nose,
nothing. Nothing. Still man-shaped.

Man . . . shaped. Not thinking at all,
this is my body’s turn to do. I sleek
down, not quite a bunny, or an imp,
but a creaturely form all my own,
what I might have been I now am,
for this little while. Listen close, I speed.

The cackles triple with delight, this
is their Architect come for play!
They direct me, a long tunnel of dancing
cackles, & I follow, I speed like
no man has, man I am, man I’m not.

Speed till I slow, slow sudden
to stop. A cave. This cave.
I know it. The Beast long lived here.

The cackles are urging me on in,
but I remain still. The Beast is
of forces deeper than my knowledge or skill.
The Beast is this world itself, given
a body to roam it, a mind to reck
itself & all dwelling on it.

I kneel. I kneel very low toward
the Cave & its possible inhabitant.
I speak quietly, scrub a man’s natural
arrogance before his world, his hand’s
& eye’s & mind’s & throat’s raw power,
& I speak from my long loneliness
& yearning.

“My friend brought me here. She
urges me to pass. She is a Creature,
& travels to her home. I am a man,
of a kind, & wish to visit, with my
questions. I ask your leave for
safe passage. Perhaps there is still
good in me to do others.”

Upon my last words, & only these,
a breath, a stirring, the sounds
of something unearthed from dug &
tossed rock. Something emits the Cave.

I stand. Approach. No. Yes. Tis. The blue bag
I gave the Princess long ago. Whole &
handled still. The Cave says nothing more
but I sniff twice & feel my entry allowed.
Realize myself still in Creaturely form as
I make to pick up the bag with swift
but clumsy paws. Regret, but reform.

About to revisit its contents, curious
what remains, but the cackles sudden
everywhere, high & low, they practically
push me into the Cave, carrying
my old bag unopened for now. Well.

Man again, I move at my own swift
speed now. I feel more myself as this
latter-day adventure continues, uncertain
but burbling. Thinking me ready for
anything.

No. And not. I come of a sudden into
the too bright central cavern of these
caves & tunnels, & for a lingering moment
as I stop, crouch, choke my breath
& beat still, I hear the scraping stones,
bare feet upon stones, bare feet dancing,
dancing, a lithe body conjuring song from
patterns & dreams. My heart stops. I fall away.

******

lviii. Deeper Creature Time (iv)

When I come to, I am aloft, but back
in the tunnel I emerged from. My form
changed to, ah, I am again Hummingbird
like when I first met her along paths of
the Gate!

I’m afraid. She dances happily with
the Creatures, she’s found her content.
She gifted me my Tower, day & night
without ending, & I’ve balked.
Dissatisfy with retiring quietly to a drawer,
a man-shaped tool plied, & done.

I flit, flit some more, find myself falling
into these pleasures. Remember
to listen with ears & there are still
cackles around me, waiting,
now nudging a little, come along,
Hummingbird! New play! New play!

Enter the great cavern again, inured
to its bright light now, & see
the Princess has concluded her
solitary dance & now every Creature
big & small joins in her frolic.

Many of the major Bears in
this number, little ones too,
even wee ones & their oddest of noises
make me think of the Imp somehow.
Several Giraffes, a grey Hedgehog,
the White Bunny! So many more.

I join. Before I can think to think,
or choose to choose, I join in &
dance. Flitter high & low, feel out
the song they sing too, find my voice
among the many others, & join
in too. Like I belong. I belong.

My form shifts unknowing to me,
slowly, I become less Hummingbird
& more the Creaturely form I’d chose
to chase the cackles, swift & sleek,
but then less this than a man’s form,
my form, still dancing, still singing.
Still smiling among all these old friends.

When the singing crescendos to its slow close,
I feel crowds of Creatures dividing in twain before me
as I half intentioned, nudged & nudged
by cackles, by clicks-clicks & noise-noises too
now, I arrive, fully formed man,
the dance & song finished, I arrive
to the shocked, smiling, beautiful face
of my long-beloved Princess. Oh my.

******

lix. Deeper Creature Time: Grand Production

“We are and are not.”
--Heraclitus

Your smile holds me from falling,
keeps me from fleeing. Your hair as red
as always, as long, your eyes still
a faerie blue, but nothing to your smile
as you slow me enough to rest, not pause,
in my place. Your smile the sum
of what all these years have not been.
Your smile sups upon me until I am
well-chewed, swallowed, expelled back
to myself as this calm reunion’s moment.

“You came.”
“You . . . called?”
She nods, steps forward, & grasps
my hand. “It was time.”

I feel something wordless, something
I do not know, good or bad? I don’t
know. Look down. Our hands, as
they keep grasping, meld to one.

I gasp. Begin to laugh. Still holding her,
our hand, I lean over & laugh loud.

“What is it?”
I hold up our hand. “This! I think
this is what got lost along the way.
We let go each other’s hand, & then came
history. All of it.”

She nods. I please her. She leads me by
our hand somewhere, woods, White Woods?
No Creatures follow us. All is quiet.

I want to say & say & say.
“I do too. It’s OK.”
Calm. A beat. A breath. OK.
“Where are we going?”
“Where I was bound already. I waited for you.”

We come through the Woods to a clearing,
a long one, & I see at the far end
a platform, stop which sits a grand stage.
The Princess smiles ever more so at me,
I feel as though our limbs are twining
amongst each other in her excitement.
Ahh. Many Creatures now join us in the clearing.

We have no special place to stand or sit
among our friends here, although I notice
the White Bunny, the turtle who is not a
turtle, yes, the crazy gnattering Imp
all nuzzle up near to us. They know me,
sniff twice familiarly. My heart shines,
& falls free.

“Tis a Grand Production!”
I nod. “There is no time.”
She laughs. Points.

A white-furred bear wearing a long
Scotch-styled scarf is waving a long paw
& crying “On . . . with . . . the . . . Show!”

There is a deep-black bear who
comes out to dance, tells a few jokes,
juggles a few, then more, then countless
balls, then executes an impossible tumble
into the crowd, returning before left.

There is the black & white bear who
slides onto the stage, dancing high
& low, tapping his paws artfully to music
I wonder must be the Traveling Troubadour’s,
& brings out the black bear & others to
leap & fall to the audience’s delight.

Our friend the White Bunny on stage
performs many dazzling long-eared
hops, impossibly high & fast!

There is a comical dalmatian & his
daffy quips. There is a purple-furred
dancing Creature, long ribbons in
dizzying flourish. There is the tumbling
brown monkey who jumps seeming miles
high. Many, many others come & go.

I forget who I am & am smiling
the Princess’s smile, laughing
her laugh, feeling her long deep
warmth with these friends.
This is who I am when the world
isn’t in peril, or when we let each
other be.

There is the handsome bumblebee gliding
over us, & atop his furred back is
a small melancholy-faced pup, & they
fly together not like steed & ride but
like their paws too are one, like
there is no other way to be, stars
above, earth below, we too are one,
we too are one.

I wake. Cry out. “Shhh.” Look around.
Oh. Creatures cavern. They are
clustered all around us, still dozing.

She smiles down at me, I panic, but
feel our hand still warmly one.
Relax a moment. Let her arms around
me possess me all. So close. Release. So close.

“Yes. And no.” We recede a little. Just a little.
“There’s more. There’s else.”
“Not every Creature lives safely here.”
“Nor most of the world. Shaped like men,
Creatures. Trees. Everything.”
“It’s why I called you. Why you brought
my blue bag.”
I nod. I’m ready.

******

lx. Deeper Creature Time: Leaving Off

“Nothing remains still.”
--Heraclitus

Sitting side by side, we unclasp the blue bag
& open its cover. A soft floral scarf
covers its contents.

She removes a dearly known item to me.
The braided Threads, hands them to me,
these are still powerful for our task.
I nod.

Then she takes out two small red balls,
blue striped. Three more, orange these.
She nods this time. I put them aside
me with the Braided Thread.

The Creatures stir & wake around us,
sniff twice, know change & gather,
gather close.

We each touch the Creature near to hand,
the Princess her White Tiger, me his kind-eyed
bullfrog companion.

I feel each Creature touching to each,
one to many to all, paws, nuzzles,
we too are one, we too are one.

“You’re doing this to teach me.
You know this already. You always did.”

The Princess smiles at me, her smile
like shine, like wash, lets me close
to her, her skin, her hair, allows me
rove across her cheek, touch her lips,
smooth to her neck, ‘cross her shoulders,
upon her breasts, of them in them,
on them, pleases me man, pleases
me soul, becomes my tongue sliding
across her body, taste you tasting me,
let flesh meld & light, let flesh twain
& delight to chase, release, chase,
release, we too are one & two & one
& two & one too.

She lays the colored balls, the Creatures
know them as Treasures, in a pattern
to broadcast us where we will.
Twined one to another, the Princess
allowing the girl’s form in her for my
pleasure, touched by every Creature
as they doze near us, & later to dancing,
& later to exploring cavern & Gate
above alike, we begin to sing
pathways into the world, touch
& teach others how.

Remember some things. It took thick
books of why & walls of fear against
beasts of the world & unknown men’s
faces to shock you into following
obeying silence. It took centuries of
contrived sufferings to convince you
that this world is to be suffered.

It took great iron cities built
gouging & burning from the earth
to convince you that the world
does not easily provide to all.
Caterwauling leaders to scare you from
each other too close, & let the
suffering men & women in the streets lie,
& let them suffer.

You had to tame. You had to conquer.
You had to cage. You had to own.
You had to celebrate dominance with
feast. Cry & fuck. Cry & fuck some more.

There is no time. Especially in dreams.
As we sing into the world, a low hmmmmmm
you will not yet hear, tis because it began
in your dreams, what we sang you
as we held you close, travelled you
by cosmos & microbe to see in all
we too are one, we too are one.

Travel you to the Tangled Gate,
source of your world, secret you
can enter & learn to know. Just a drink
from the Fountain, still lingering
on the Gate’s legend “For those lost.” Yes.
You were. You’ll find your way now.

In the Gate, down its many tall pathways
of vines & stones, we’ll follow you now.
There is the Hummingbird & its tale
of men & women remembering their first song
& flying away, awakening & flying away.

Perhaps you will lead to Cloverdale,
its dank first room, its room of mirrors,
its desert & there a small shack.
Will you meet the small exotic
or the Tramp his grieving friend?
Where will you lead us next?

Maybe, freely going now, you will find
the hekk stick in your hands & thus
decide easily where this dream next,
lead us on or let us go, part the Gate
itself, or else a smile, & deeper in.

If Cloverdale, you might come to
the Carnival Room if you can, learn
to sing how &, entering its marvels,
for you a long-limbed fiddler, for you a great
buck barking you to knee? Will you carriage
with us to the far end of the world,
behold the Sleepers, join them awhile
in their Sleeping Capsules, drink the juice
to cross the Dreaming, or show them how
without Capsule, without juice?

Will you choose to travel with us
many dreams like these, learn
what we are, Architect & Princess, &
behold the Island outside the Gate,
live with us its story, how we came
to be, what we learned to know,
what mysteries we cannot reck, wild cards
to our equations, our songs, our histories,
our loves?

As we sit here now with you, in this
warm cavern, these friendly Creatures
all around, some dozing, all partners
in the Hmmmmmm, we invite you
to wake when you will, how you will,
make of this dream & its like whatever
you wish, but return whenever you
wish to as well. The Braided Thread
we leave, ever weaving through your
dreams. Yours to grasp or leave lie.

[And when she at last came, & took
your other hand, & when he came & took my other,
something was now complete, now told of what was
& what passes on to be. I did not let go,
I am a man & I both hope & fear, but I willed
my heart open wider to all, to every
& all, we too are one, we too are one,
together we will architect this world.
Together we will architect this beautiful world.]

******

[Cenacle]

*** Many Musics, IX, li, “Yesterday is Everything,” this poem introduces the narrative of the Architect & his brother, often referred to as Benny Big Dreams . . . we get to learn what happened to the Architect after the original “Tangled Gate” narrative” from MM, VIII . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, lii, “Dreaming Coming Stars,” a very complex poem in which we learn kinda sorta what happened to the King’s first Queen, & why . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, liii, “Between the Night & Day,” the Architect ruminates on the Princess, & his eons-long pursuit of her, for love & for understanding . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, liv, “Scent of Aster (Other Beauties),” this focuses on the Architect & Benny, & how they came to be reunited as man & mutt at the end of the world . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, lv, “Deeper Creature Time (i),” first of six poems in which the Architect mulls on the mysterious nature of the Creatures . . . & begins to move again from his stuckedness . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, lvi, “Deeper Creature Time (ii),” the Architect enters the Gate, & seeks to summon for help his old Creature friends . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, lvii, “Deeper Creature Time (iii),” the Architect follows the cackling of his old friend the Imp, & comes to the Cave of the Beast, is allowed to pass through it, & finds someone unexpected . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, lviii, “Deeper Creature Time (iv),” the Architect joins in a dance happening, transforms & again & again, till he arrives to the Princess . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, lix, “Deeper Creature Time: Grand Production,” the Princess leads the Architect to witness & enjoy the Creatures’ Carnival Grand Production, just a happy happy poem . . .
*** Many Musics, IX, lx, “Deeper Creature Time: Leaving Off,” & this is the final of the Ninth Series, where Architect & Princess & Demon & Benny Big Dreams all join together for a moment, deep under the Tangled Gate, in a very hopeful moment . . .

[Ghost]

This is a series of poems I feel I would need to
travel again and again to appreciate fully,
and there is something to be said for that
sort of depth and complexity. I have read
it but once, so there is little I can offer but
to say that there are some wonderful turns
of phrase within it, parts of it sing. What doesn't
sing here speaks, and I am still troubling out just
what is being said. I will read it again, again.
Maybe I will know. In the meantime, I am
reminded of laying near-asleep in the presence
of my grandparents as they spoke of their
lives to one another, being in a dream in
which their voices floated in and out of it
so that I could catch only disjointed meanings
that in sleep I threaded into narrative that
made sense to me in ways that, while awake,
I could not determine, but in slumber seemed
pure. Like that, yours is a good dream. I need
to be deeper asleep.

[Cenacle]

wow, I did not see this when you wrote it. lovely thank you.

[Cenacle]

Continued here:
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