After All the Glitter Has Fallen

Turning the dogs into wolves,
The scratchy meadows scarcely know
What the mantelpieces hold:
The memory of all the wars—ongoing
Infused in all that blows—through it all:
The trying to change what is to what should be
Without losing—one might say—the honesty,
(The dirt on our lungs along with our clear flute tones),
Yet the battles fought beyond have left in us what they’ve spoken
And have no need to say what is, and what is not.

We’re soldiers, without knowing it,
Bringing armor with our wounds,
As secrets speak our words.
Our toes alight with bird songs
But our guts close at the rat-a-tat-tat of canines,
Back and forth it goes; there are only beliefs
That are forms of control,
And the boss is invisible.

Even the unknown Generals are puppets in play,
Even the higher echelon board game
Is a release of what has already passed,
As inevitable as a breath, the magnet poles
Create all intelligence, from nothing, from what is not that,
It only becomes mind as it is shown
To another space for nothing, consciousness
Which, like a clam inflicted with sand
Must create its own.