Ouroboros, where to begin and where to end,
The cycle is a circle, from our line of sight…
But, It is really a spiral, trust me on this,
We move in all dimensions, space and time.
- Is a fingernail, a scratch of light in the sky
- is a crescent, a scythe slashing across virgin black
- is a half , a pizza cutter breaking black to blue
- is a hump, latinised: for science is sorcery
- and then it is remade whole and wholesome.
The return reverses but goes in order.
So much for sequences.
Mother moon, she breeds and bleeds,
Sacred as a Goddess, primordial and primeval,
A bloated belly. A dragging sensation.
But yet this is lunacy. A scream in the night.
White light an electric fork.
Bathe me in your sweet and sacred light Lilith
Take the child I raise to your pure light.
copyright Dale Beck 2018
This is not what i wanted but it is what I have. I was trying to explore the different cultural ambiguities of the moon, which throughout time has been both pure and mad, maternal and dangerous.
I may have to come back to it when I can recast the fragments, and re-read the runes.