Wavering stars cry
with their last breath,
Echoes line the boundaries in
I grab ahold of the falling sky.
Shadows whisper in denial,
the regurgitating Wind
heaving at the edge of the alter again,
dragging its tail in waste–
I grab ahold of the molested child.
itself white again…
clawing at the surface.
the fabric of He…
the fabric of he….
the fabric of me.
like is typical of me, these lyrics pertain to the creation of gods… stars.. starmen..
“He” can always be a play on the Hebrew letter.. which is doubly accentuate in that tetragrammatonic reverberation that plagues every shorn child of the universe.. so that reference to the molested child is invariably the stripping of the Will… the veiling of the stars. The blackening of the spiritual Sun..
The concept revolves around the idea that the creation of beings is at the same time the evolution of beings.. a continuous movement.. a perpetual creation.. a living water everlasting.
the rising and falling of which is the rhythmic breathing of He.. our dramatic mystery unfolds
Categories: Bobby Irelan
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