THE LINEAGE OF THE SKY

Pulsating cosmic,

weathered by convictions,

this opalescent sky-coat,

distinct layers of Salome,

veiled in curious empowerment,

sifts in the aeonic utterance of the minotaur's roar.

Heads of state and such,

through pacts with opportune dissociation,

acting boorish and bullish,

forever act open to revise the coeval,

eviscerating obfuscation of the night's temple.

In the countenance of day, the Janus fever,

pitched at paces divine,

in the name of distinguishing distance,

bring division to its place.

Potent in utility,

their charms defend the realm,

streaming in puerile,

servile insignificance,

hovering in the shape of shame,

their labyrinthine visions,

codify the anachronistic normalcy of transcendence.

Drawn in solipsistic codification,

made to transcend the ubiquity,

of their avid importunity,

they govern the end of chance,

in eras of concerted happenstance,

empowering none.

Cut from the cloth,

dictated by value,

emperors and children know distinctly,

the veils of perception,

and the comport of their purposes.

Nations are born,

to die in an instant,

surveilling eternity.

Nations born,

to die and die again,

in the name of discovery,

itself prescient and distinct,

made of science and myth,

made of the decor of assertions,

and made of dreams,

following the thinnest thread,

of an opalescent thought,

constellations of wonder,

tracing the lineage of the sky.

This poem is dedicated to my mentor Nicholas Walsh, who once read me HOWL in total, and inspired me to become a poet.  Nicholas said poetry could be fully arbitrary- reading the titles of signs could be considered an act of the poetic instinct.  Connecting the hidden and unseen through the tangential connections of the obvious, in harmonizing synchronicity, with the sense of connecting the arbitrary I do suppose is part of what he meant.  I love this man wholeheartedly a great man, and a wonderful friend.  I could not be a poet were it not for the guidance and compassion of so many people, really, I am in debt to every teacher, whose patience with my method, was nothing shy of a godsend, feeling appreciated is a gift and privilege effective enough to make us all poets in some significant way.  I dedicate this poem to Nicholas, and of course to the great Gord Downie, who I don't know but who likewise has been a mentor of sorts, a true poet, lead singer of the band The Tragically Hip.

Words, Poem and image © 2016 Peter Kaleb Theodoropoulos aka Rockwell Wilder