The Feathered Serpent

I use to be attached to myself like everyone else

That’s the way of this worlds masked delusions

Insatiable hunger of skeletons living above our body

Far from the green bones of the mother


I am beholden to the spirits of the primordial deep

A bear of hidden soul mending urges

A stag reflecting on the beauty of long sounding desire

Coyotes quivering energy on the living room floor

Often I am the human story of combustion

Exhaust fumes of primal murmurings

Until we begin tracking the masked dawn

Learning how to burn and not be consumed

Be consumed but not burn


My incantations are somewhere in a book now

Or in a swaying pine

They sing to themselves when one listens

Riding the currents of the earth needs

The underworld time deposits and erratic platelets

I am a feathered serpent that hears the still waters

Of your glass continent shifting

Ink of your soul leaking out

Along a thin line of thought

Forest paper that has disappeared

Whittled down to threadbare reflection

Walking through the mirror of the thousand selves

The conditioned gravity of infinite thoughts

Wield and yield their shadows and potent dragons

From the brine of the wound

To the coast of meditation


Tributaries of amnesia always hitting the bluff

Forced to tumble around

Become more distant

Spreading seafloor

Until nothing

A snow shelled tree

An impassable swamp

To the other side of us

That knows the sacred contract

Of bridging realities


You cannot see the beginning or end of it all

It could be a period at the end of a sentence

Ask how will you close the book

Without giving over to the ghost

Of vanishing perception

Part of us slowly disintegrates

Every time we elude our mirror

The seismic stanza breaks

Worn to the spine of artifice


The wind breathes and the wind speaks to itself

The listening weathered leaf propels the period

Of the minute insect across this telluric poem

The story keeps moving without success

Without complaint without being seen

The deity’s breath

In the cave of your being

Dripping its primordial sap

Into the vein of the last season


I built a hut for the deep sanctum of silence

Shared nest building heals the divide between us

I live inside the eyes of a serpent winding

Along the earth’s long steady road

Teeming spirits in unfiltered senses

Animal tracks tracking the mountain dolmens voice

Leading to places we all should know

As bat I deliver flowers to a dead friend

Get up the hill I shout into the creaking dark pines

Their charcoal blues of perforated dreams

Flit from branch to branch tiers

Spirit clouds shape the moon shadows

I walk through their feeling dimensions

Ant carries it all on its back

I step reverent carefully

Over frost and broken sticks

Shedding my skin in a wave just right until death


Everywhere can feel like home

In the worlds hypnotic mist pools

Until divergent tropes move into memory

Tapping nuances of the holy

The mind can get to talking all syllables at once

Wild courts of the underground attend and heed

Voices from the crystal air keep gathering


My small hand by Quetzalcoatl’s vast eyes

Her feathers would like to be stroked

By my needs of beauty bonding

The way I feed my feathered serpent

Helps me beyond my personal design

Keeps me out of the zoo of individuals

With my own wings growing I can see

The avian eyes of rose colored moons

Moving through the myriad worlds

Each blink is a new life we’ve been waiting for


We use to have bird hands like yours

A dorsal surface for the most sensitive currents

We use to have subterranean tails for the vibrating terrain

Fins on our voices to navigate the divine terrestrial lair

Maybe we still have the craft

To change the worlds darkening tide

From the inside out

Exhales of everything I have done

With so little left over

And everything just begun



1 Comment
  1. Lynne Maree says

    Fantastic to see your painted stories gracing Inspirational Storytellers once more Brian Brogan! Love your creative works!!

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