Disassembled Beingness

Once upon a time there were three no we’ll make it four, little bits of time running a race that actually paralleled that of an anaconda digesting its large prey; a grizzly hibernating on a bighorn; a swan singing in sunlit daisies in white-butterfly-intermittent-clouds, and-quite-unpredictable, despite observing hours to days to weeks, which stretches forth wings of glory to rejoicingly introduce the prophetess from the west with no agenda or attachment to ideals: Isis!
What happens when three billion are expendable?
One sneezes…
It is that easy, as has been proven over millennia…
What happens when no amounts of billions will perpetuate anything?
Shivas eat everything and no rumbling sounds so deep…
What happens when a forest of ancients is timber?
In a week…
It is a rumbling deeper and more ancient than Changing Woman as she has been known in the present day.
Changing Woman of many moons ago found no solace in fields wider than two peaks could comfort.
Changing Woman saw continents, islands, galaxies, universes, and found the worthy ones here called alcreatamythos….
They seek whatever realms of revisioning have not yet seen the shapes of four such riveting minds.
Bowing dew splatters in diamondlike chatter
Crackling birch flirting with a pit
Crab apple blooms internal / external
It is…
Give me now this life I soon see no more…
Reassemble me, oh, Isis…
I, your husband who was tricked by horrid sibling rivalry, implore thee…
And, if you ask But, what is the fourth?, then you have not seen or read closely enough and so you must return and revisit the words, one by one, until you have been through the four again, and for some again and again….

--by Scott Michael Potter