by Ian G Graham.
Myths ><>< soul mirrored in eternal flames,
eternal actors dance in concentric circles where they remain,
born of red clay cracked – faces in primal slime.
imprisoned in revolving tragedy,
unknown to the harness of time,
Myths><>< long universal arms of pure lighted consciousness,
burrowing through muddy flats of reality,
vegetated swamplands of rustic warriors,
tales in flame and smoke,
raw and cooked,
voices that weep for long-gone spirits on spangled star belts.
Long grass people born from the dreaming,
people of the mud dream within the heart,
seed-split-fertilized in green dreams><>< old songs,
engraved in ash-dust and bone,
enshrined in long arterial reeds-blood and stone,
spins tales woven in the dreams of mud clad magicians,
messengers who travel ghostly tunnels,
to where she mines a truth for us to unravel.