—"mu" thirty-second part—
Scales what would once have been
skin… Feathers what would once
have been cloth… There that
claiming heaven raised hell, fraught
sublimity, exits ever more to
come…
A drum's head it was we walked on,
beats parsed out by ghost feet,
protoghost feet our feet had
become. It was a dream of beaten
earth,
beaten air, beaked extravagance,
birds we'd eventually be. Albeit
feeling took flight's place, flight
familiarity's run, movement found our
feet, what once had been wood…
We
stood as one, stung wood's revival,
"Pinocchio" was on the box. Puppet
run, strung wood, stump trumpet…
Bugled admonition. Spun… It wasn't
swirl
we wandered into, circling wind we
considered moot, a way we had of
running in place… Phantom limbs they
were we ran on, ghost feet that
they were. Nubs that'd once been feet
lost their numbness. Feeling it was
made
us run… It was feeling's return we
ran with, irredentist earth beneath
our feet felt good. Irredentist earth
fell away from our feet as we kept
running, ran from day one long before
day
one, protoghost entourage… Leg anthem
the music intimated. "Spooks" it now
was on the box. We were anything but
there though not elsewhere, rhythmically
elect but loosed even so, earth a
dream
of drums come
true
It wasn't puppets we were, strings
tied to what had been wood notwithstanding,
wasn't we were wood anymore. Runaway
earth abrupt cut from under… Ricochet
and Reach rival names we knew it
by…
Blinked and before we got there were
gone, protoghosthood its own haunt…
So that Run it seemed it was we came to
next, a place, had it been a place, made
of
whisk, borne-away whatsee, blur… Blent
vista such that splinters reared up
and walked, went remitless… Endless
reconnoiter, endless vex, revisitation.
Endless hoist and hoofbeat limbed on
high…
Comings and goings not gotten over.
Death not gotten over, goings away
glimpsed again had us gone without
going, on to the heard-about
City,
sounded
out