The Twylla Fragments

 

 

The following message from BUTCH, dated December 28, 2000, was preceded by a series of convulsions that were interpreted by That Which Provides Food to represent sounds that could be rendered Twylla in the Roman alphabet. Such convulsions in humans often precede dissociative transpersonal states. This is by the far the most puzzling of BUTCH's utterances, and it is possible that she had been mounted by a very powerful spirit. Rather than a unit, these are truly fragments of something too big to squeeze through even as mighty an iguana as she.

 

Bodies falling to the ground

dropping from the sky in heaps

falling, pounding, hailing

on the earth in damp staccatos

yet not injured

ecstasy waits at ground zero

the force of impact is the gust of life

the planet rushes up to greet them, panting

the trees lean forward

branches catching bodies

falling at all angles

faces in all expressions

clothed and naked

fed and hungry

No pile of bodies but pummelling, pummelling

constant contact with ground

 

Fire and dresses in dancing striations

fixed with ammonia of nitrous oxide

and dead televisions tied to nighthawks

Sunset orange bloodspurt chases gray away

Enameled coffeetins rush out of tombstones

Earthen waxwork horses delight

Praying to Delaware in the midnight station

Huddling around a cigarette trying to get warm

Tentacles and gelatin in the icebox

and cool cola tasty all the way to the moon

 

A comet in five years

brings disaster of abandon

first joy then spilled martinis

as the monsters enter the party

 

Serenaded hush of blankets

Blue and soft in mother's horizon

Cares are lighter than air and drift up

There will always be smiling at the end

 

where the trees were is sky the color of old ladies' hair

below the leaves and bent twigs of late fall, almost winter

but a warmth in the wind has awakened me

as it keeps the leaves' day green, night frost after night frost

rolls over them as it may and make them go limp

and brown as a monk's robe

 

Truth is burning in the air, he said,

Turn and look to see it behind me

It is a pure blue and green country

that is just beyond the earth and sky

 

Unhand me

unhead me

unbody me rolling to the sea

and let the waves play on my absence

Just the sun sparkles would be me

 

Sky and shore me

surf and cloud me

Sand-dollar me, round and white on the beach

and let the crabs use me as a halo

So holy would I be

 

 

He was well developed for a god.

 

There's only so many things left to leave

Before we leave for good