Fresh Poetry ~ “A Siren’s Theft in the Aqueducts”

Madalina Lardache Bukov levay(I.) the air is full of souls—show the memory of a
ghost bride. hear moans of this
impatient child, a bearded fish
losing the power to beguile once
crimes
of her looting & piracy are
discovered;
vault after vault—the Vision simplifies into
each sphere; unheard whispers
descend
into plains
of illuminated aspect.

 

listen: her strange song builds adobe bricks in their
minds—a pueblo of shattered network;
of high jacked references which bespeak a
need
for self-sacrifice; secrets
to immortality aroused, then
blocked.

as above, so
below; nets are cast to determine
whether
there is worthy love.

(ii.) a battle in purgatory rages the shattering moment
she realizes the crimes of her voice; she amasses force
that is no
mere novelty; nets are dragged through
foul swamps.

spirits appear unseen to their hosts., wheeling & dealing under false promises
of devotion; slowed by demands of the cult, a battle of Ascension draws nigh.

the siren sings for constant access, to entrap & bewilder hearts of eager sailors who jump the waves,
their crafts set towards the sea’s swiftest parts.

enslavement to ancient song falters; sailors fill their ears
with wax; universal karma falls out
of service.

her therapist is distressed by frequent
references to bi-location. Flesh conquers spirit yet when there is no path back,
she lies.

in establishing new temple records, the siren’s previous
water crimes
favour a disadvantage. waiting
to be cleaned, souls swirl by the waterfall tiled
with ivory combs.

(iii.) An icy breeze surrounds crescent-shaped
objects; in sanctum
13 witches pray over fresh-borne music:
the Seed, an Egg & their belief
in a Renaissance to master
this
catalogue of layered
voice; watery netherworlds
through which the
most passionate emotions
escape.
Listen: Wands of the deacon cross
for protection;
a trio of liquid voices beset the mind with serpents
of anxiety.
Recognize the melody? Into this
world
she comes as hallucination, her dark side
lies & deceives,
auto-tuned to hell.
Listen: Women clothed with the blackest
parts of a sun
lower
shadows past fussy
gatekeepers—for those who
steal from
sacred fountains, future catacombs become
impossible
to navigate
without a guide.

(iv.) The final song begins with a charm to
stop
evil worlds; another network of invisible fluids
connect
to exchange dirty,
invisible water—recycled for salvation.

As below, so
above: that trip back to Taos where she met the
shaman,
a Hopi Indian who swears her in
through
sacred curing rituals, along with the memory
of the oldest rhythm.

In long forgotten aqueducts, the siren
still conspires over the next
symbol; enlightenment
explodes
under the occult influence
of sound.

{Image by Madalina Lardache Bukov levay}

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