patagoina marble cave poet philosopher king

Primordial Sound

On one fine day
In a place far
Far, far away

Out of the blue
And without out a clue
A sound emerged, wondering

What on Earth
It was supposed to do
To move on through

The silence?
Swishing and swooshing,
Zipping and zapping,

Yelping and yapping,
Clamoring and clapping,
The sound discovered a bridge.

Along this bridge
There lay a bed.
Upon this bed

There lay a head.
Within this head
There lay dead,

God said.

And so it did!
To the other side
Consciousness slid.

All the while,
The sound bounced
Across the bridge

Covering distances
Long and short,
It saddled Consciousness

Back and forth.
From east ear to west,
Encasing Consciousness like jelly,

The sound traveled south,
Then bellowed back north
Up its belly.

In the form of sneeze
Or a snort or a snicker,
Emerging like bees from

The den of a bickering
Colony chastising
The honey badger for its hunger,


Straight out of
Consciousness’s mouth,

Now, hearing its own voice,
Clear and crisp
With crunch and

Gripping song,
Gave its primordial sound

A name:
The Appalachian Mountains!
(Eh, why not?)

Grappling with sentiment,
Consciousness again spoke
The name of its beloved,

Except, in that second instant,
Choked out an inaudible new thing, now seen.

Swaying to the beat of Consciousness’s
The song ended abruptly.

Unbeknownst to Consciousness,
Once the barrier of silence is

Voices mature
To post-pubescent

Though thought was eager to take flight,
Consciousness remained harnessed
In a blizzard of dizzied delight.

Dazzled in a creamy haze
Of sing-song confusion,
Perched unwittingly too close to what lay beyond

The bridge of its prior delusion,
Consciousness slipped back
And fainted, regressed.

Took a poetically wrong syllabic turn
Down memory lane,
That buzzardous same old one

That killed the mockingbird.
Oh, not again,
God grumbled.

Back to the beginning.
"In the beginning was the Word,"