mystic of the commons

zion part two. like innumerable threads of a tapestry we intermingle and stream into the light together. a single body whose parts, in revolt against one-another, fight to grasp above the mud. chalk men astride the sunken form, pushing it back down.

but we are not in the mud, nor are there figures above us. these are only mechanical dreams, a stage built to be identical only to itself, with a held breath praying for our ignorance. we sleep and dream of submersion. to wake up is to bear the flower over our heads and relieve the angels of their wings. look into each-other; see ourselves.