Michael McGuire The Whiteness Of The Whale
THE WHITENESS OF THE WHALE
© Electric Babylon Music Author: M.M.
Can one describe light to the study of the blind, to the demented the
work and wonder of the mind, I stand weary witness to the broken
bones of my kind, the lost hunter becomes what he may find.
Indefinite source of all shadows in shape, the piercing persona of pale
wine in the grape, in the vast and weathered landscape of this
structured rape, where the agents of fortune keep the point of escape.
The visible elements in service of agenda unknown, wind reveals the
wake of this motion with a moan, against the stoic bulk and heavy
silence of the stone, where the darkness of the deep out shines the
whiteness of the bone.
An indiscreet autopsy bleeds no colors divine, just a wash of lit gray
and rain rust impossible to define, and the loaded terminology of the
map mirrored line, and so your fear is coached by this unbearable
shine.
And the self that is known is lost in this sea of ages deep, the
whiteness of the whale the dream of the oceans sleep, validations
epitomized in the searching color of the all, the obnoxious silence that
never whispers of the call, phantoms deep and drowning in the wet
lips of oceans kiss, revenge and rapture of what it means to be this, in
every contrivance of motion and meaning you fondle and fail, is the
unforgiving emptiness of the whiteness of the whale.
The same intoxicating agency of the moon’s stare, it’s double entendre
points both ways to nowhere, this albino rainbow keeps no promise but
the rain, left trying to read the fortune from the etching of the stain,
wonder is a surrogate to the pale and paling fear, and the essence of
the wonder has never been as clear, the morbid endurance of the ego’s
question and quest, but the eyes will always stare blind into the
whiteness unblessed.
In the whiteness of the whale there is no color only a reflection of the
light lost to the world.
Nov02
