The Royal Game | J. Karl Bogartte

 

The shadow of a fresh kill is the end of silence, the ever-present ring of enchantment. The spark of rattling insects… Nothing is ever finished, it just continues, changing places with memory… A vague reference to a dance of wild whispering.

*

There’s lightning in the moth house, ghost glow in the underground, and the light from when to dazzle the almost then, mindful of radiant anomalies. And even through the windows of ambiguous desire. You are the ghost of yourself, an enviable position. The enchantment of one who interrupts your gaze…

*

Through shadows of the face, of more light, swimming pathology, pausing in the runes… You spread out like a mythology. Shadows of lunatic endgames. The suddenness of a sign, missing link to her voice of glowing loam. Time-warp to skeletal maze, burning a window in the garden. Owl-turning, dust-making. She lamps out, dividing the spoils.

*

Night with its terrors, leaping through hoops. Nagual trapeze. You are upright panting and sleek. Marked. But cunning and random, drawn into a circle. Always an unauthorized approach. Consciousness passed through eyes… and at night, from mouth to mouth. Breath to breath, passage through the skin, to transparency…

*

To keep desire alive and shuddering, when the spine is bright, a starry debris. Handfuls of pollen gathered for a flash fire, outstretched by night vision of animal nature. She lowered her quails squirting pearls deep into a nameless shadow. A fierce mastery of a delicate nature to align a primal blood-gaze for the enraptured Coat of Melusine, for travel and sudden entrances. To leap. Light is the maze, darkness is an image of it…

*

A girl infected with candles, mirror of the humming. In a cloud, leopards, for the revolver, braille, a semblance of movement, long-stemmed invoking of ancient wiles. In that landscape you are fog the color of bees in sunlight, in cinema, a doorway for binding spells, broken into glowing.

*

A language of water opens the door to illusive interiors, in the field at night, when the walls are costumes begging to be worn, sheer and unsettling, effortless. Cause and effect grappling with the energy of presence, the hidden… If you spread your legs, for light, there is the candle dripping darkness for sleep and spell. The first spell, the primal incantation that takes you by surprise, even as it exhausts itself.

*

It was a complex halo in refraction, a sudden gesture of robotic dust-gathering that assumed a more delicate animal nature to eclipse between her legs and her mouth. Pole vaulting through Anasazi…

*

A Lunar disguise. Whose portrait reflects yours, whose myth is wearing your mask… is that you breathing in the arcades? Obscure parentage, night glitter, dark scent. Blood strung in the trees, tuned beyond repair, your intoxicating web of desire igniting antlers and small villages.

*

A warehouse illuminated by ravens, magnified by lightning embedded in the text left unsigned and awkward, an adolescent dimension sipping primordial brides, windows hunting for reflections… You follow only the scent that overwhelms you, the memory that speaks of confrontation. You imagine what cannot be imagined, to lose what is not imagined… It is my eyes, she said, that smell of sleep and chlorophyll… The unrest, discontent, narrative for a dousing-rod.

*

Night with its terrors, leaping through hoops. Nagual trapeze. You are upright panting and sleek. Marked. But cunning and random, drawn into a circle. Always an unauthorized approach. Consciousness passed through eyes… and at night, from mouth to mouth. Breath to breath, passage through the skin, to transparency

*

Paradise as a word in the loam of molting, a gender-fleece away. A body of lives before light, most shapes the dark, coming back. The earth smell of rain and hunger. Desire. Conspires. Cries out… A joyous raging.

*

The interior flow of blood seeks a voice as powerful as a sudden encounter. In sunlight it is a memory, the silence of a revelation. You spread out like a mythology, under golden blues, haphazardly mistaken for another, a darker shade. Playing shadow in the window of ambiguous desire, an image that leaves a scent to memorize. An unwashable stain.

*

There is no philosophy worthy of your body, without form when it dreams, lights the fuse, declares an uncertain sense of victory over exhaustion and doors that refuse to close. A theory emits tiny crystals for illuminated marksmen, consoling the alpha female in her dousing, sifting for gold and other arrangements.

What is lucid in your presence, however tentative, is the attitude of transparency, in its active state, which is a furious refusal – not simply to mystify, but to remove all doubts. The sense of nakedness violated with pleasure and disfigured with a passion to exchange places when the landscape intervenes. To visualize fire, engender it, yet remain nebulous and orphaned by chance, and choice, firing through the ashes… The virus of a window.

*

The wind she said the rain “as my flesh” for so much fog, then the almost of everyone, that not quite and the always interrupted, with a frenzy of expectation, the watery sun flows you into sleep… “I am the other place, and the other, so many doorways out of recurrence.”

*

In that space between you and the mirror, a slowly rotating constellation of unnatural design. Your reflection ignited. You see only yourself, or another… You see through, and for a few brief moments, you die, without waiting. You cannot remember that first momentous gesture…

*

The enslavement of a princess is that swan illuminated by lit fuses and embedded codes. Darkness is a long drawn-out gasp. Presence implicates unlawful entrances. Knowledge unattainable by any other means is magnetized by pleasure in timid savagery. You arrive before mythology… breathing on yourself… to regain all that was lost in translation.

*

You are the scent of sleep so heavy it illuminates each gesture, so intoxicating it draws animals into your breath, like crystals in your mouth, pulling sunlight inside…

*

Grace is the art of luring ravenous dogs into a state of springtime.

 

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