Habitat Return 

 

Mythmaking an expanse

A bow to silence

The pleasure of rocks and light, clean lines

Dissolving into nature’s timescale

Material and immaterial erosions

The impossibility of returning to

Stillness or

Surrender

The desert, stark but teeming

Begins again

The softness of the rugged, barren

All edges worn to round

Perfect giant bon bons of rosy terra cotta stone

Are rigid pillows, slipping and crumbling

Undulating mounds soft to the eye, coarse sandpaper to the touch

The resonant silences are an audience, deepening its attention

For gestures of strength/power

And surrender/vulnerability

Bodily incantations to become new states of being

Erode the self, here

High camp transformation rites

Offer pineapples, a shed skin, a lone cactus clump

All just parts of itself to itself, be a mirror to the void

A respectful acknowledgement of appreciation

A bondage to the corporeal and to the land

No feminized no masculinized myths of the American western landscape

Blonde synthetic wig power totem, a vestment of emptiness

Flesh of stone, body of salt, un-christened

Dissolved

 

The Venus of Willendorf is a corpse, a clear spring

 

No false heroine

 

To become that stillness

To detatch from synthetics, obsessions, compulsions

To better see

The archaeology of your persona and identity: gender cloaks

Mundane performances of self

To get there you need brief respites of

No talking

But here, a candy wrapper against a dusty cactus

Or a waft of a cigarette suddenly, from where?

The void: a loud place

The void: a romantic dream of ecological purity where death reigns

The void: empty eternity

I find dissolution sexy

A reduction, Less

A sort of spiritual minimalism

Post-verbal

Dump the heaviness into numbing dusty winds

Here, absolute excess of performance or gesture coexists to maintain the balance

You are a clown facing the void

Cry for weeks, water a patch of rocks with your tears

And then the stones will treat you as their own, recognize your parched, weathered edges

It is for them you perform, reduce, and transform

They are the monoliths of the immortal clocks

Counting your days and pounds of soft bodiness

Your ancestral sediment, inert but awake

Here, transmute into something else

Sublimation Into Stone

Evaporate while consolidating

You, encased in a force field that is the desert itself, but the temporary absence of humanity still churns in shifting shadows

Over there, culture is in the early morning vestiges of a coke binge before collapse

Just ragged scraps of that memory remain here

Time’s chewing them up

Becoming distant or blurred

Alchemy happening, days collapse in on themselves, a new world emerges

Burning a beam of light horizon across glassy cornea 

Lush and austere

all contradictions in harmony

 

The Venus of Willendorf entombed, a resurrection