Untitled (Part Two): Invocation to the Muse

Note: Somewhat related to "Thou Art God," the poem.


INVOCATION TO THE MUSE

Diogenes stood simultaneously the the left and right of his body, chuckling as force came from half-way in-between the places where he actually stood. The person who had taken the name Rainflower circled and spun around him, giggling and staring into space above his head. Her face radiated in eight directions at once when she made sounds high-pitched and energized like the tree trunks widening and reverting back and forth all around, also in eight directions on the compass with the sun at its sweet-scented center, bright and yellow.

The borders of their vision blurred and spun in time with Rainflower’s voice and exploded into brightly real clarity, and everything was a twisting feathered serpent, Quetzalcouatl rushing through the ring of a rainbow and shining as the paragon of illumination in naturally swirling and sharp waves on the surface of the soul-bond between companions, a spined animal seeing its laughing reflection and losing itself in those waters. Diogenes quivered under the luminous trembling, sometimes unable to breathe because Rainflower’s heart raced so deeply. Sweat and other gratifying odors poured into the trees’ roots and dispersed into the liquid of the sun all around them. Diogenes muttered a name that was lost in the swell and spun away. He assumed it was Rainflower’s.

The serpent-god turned his graceful head toward the sound. Diogenes met his fierce, inhuman gaze and tried to understand the emotion in its eyes. The fork-tongued mouth let out a roar and a scream at the lowest and highest pitches that can be heard, beaming out in all eight directions. A massive feathered tail wrapped around the two people and coiled until they could no longer move. Quetzalcouatl roared on. The companions stared back into his shining eyes that glared back like Nietzsche’s abyss, lighted colors rising from the nether.

They embraced within the god’s grapple and kept on laughing the whole while, shaking still more violently before the great scaly face as it grew lighter and lighter, all its beaming hues fading to white—the color of blindness and of heaven’s fire. His sea became a glow and poured back into the god’s outspread wings until Diogenes’ mind was soaked colorless, and their bodies sank under pressure filling the air and everything within it—the clamp pressed to the limits of the mortal bodies and vaporized into air and light along with the feathered serpent and everything save Rainflower and Diogenes. Even their laughter flashed away.