Monday, 18 November 2013
Ten Masks of the Creatures from Before Time
The gaps in broken glass and falling leaves
delineate the angles and the face
whose shiftings cannot blur, as wheel-spokes merge
or fighters hands trace vectors in the air,
but freeze each sectored movement in the eye.
Once gleam, twice reflected telescoped gold,
like sun motes hum in the predators gaze,
the cagelike iris of the wolf that counts,
arranging constellations of sweet time.
Seconds celestial, quickly eclipsed.
The cold, enfolded shadow blazes pale,
weeps molten moonlight tears that slowly pool,
a face of silver cast on umbral bone.
The winters smiling face on paling weal
and skulls slow-sung farewell to tidal sail.
This masks packs fractured spiderwebs on glass
which holds the slow-constructed droplets eye,
gaze staring blankly from their inverse world
of harried girl-craft faces and a sky
shining like the ghost of a carapace.
The skin here is finer than a fly’s wing
and folds around the features like that shield.
Expressions flick and twitch, a fly-leg prance,
deceptive weapons locked in silent wield,
a trance remembered dance it cannot sing.
The eyes of approximate millions glare
from venom-spelling reptilian skin,
the snake of Nox (onomastically; Night)
a daemons tapestry of keratin
the legions chained up in her nails and hair.
The smoke from burnt iron cores of blasted worlds
writhes, denser than the floors it seeps on, gawps
and talks, with words unfurled pennants of iron,
these tongues coronal to a boiling face,
sourceless, centreless, timeless as the race.
Pinclutch of unclassifiable eyes,
Facial geography crystal splintered.
This mask is latticing the tongue in light,
igniting solar lips and bright gnathite,
bones; setting suns like shadows dis-interred.
A hive of thoughts is twisting in the glass:
knots rays inside this anti-prism mask.
Omniphagic Gorgonite mouth, alas
Unstopped by its fettered portal casque
making lemniscate noms of space, and mass.
This mask is the skull of the dragon, death,
who came before all days and noticed hours,
breath spilling out an absent numbing mist
bower, an architectured void that no-one drew.
This first masks fist is weft and screwed with power.