Psychagogue
Memory of words, memory of flesh
The last remnant memory destroys
Ghostly, choral, anachronistic
And so they are always returning to us, the dead
A vertiginous sense that the past has erupted
That the dead are with us
An invisible twin, the reverse of a shadow
Printed on the eye
Stored in the brain
Coded over skin
Transmitted by blood
The lasciviousness of ruin, moving from melancholy to mourning
Continuous motion of the spirit
Mythopathic moment, the ground possessed
Twin obsessions of death and peace
The god now directs four horses, fire-breathing, day by day through the chamber of heaven
Blue of the ether, divine form
“As for my own dreams, the ones I lost would make it through. I should’ve known, some things just follow until they take”*
Twin obsessions of death and peace
* Michael Herr, “Dispatches”
