Green was first when the extant set out to condense itself down.
Then cinnabar: capillaries of fire and endlessness,
a nest of triangles, symbols of the Three Principles —
the Great Heart of some elapsed thing.
The only world we can cope with
is this shopping list of perceptions:
Round bottomed flask,
orphic egg, Aurora Borealis, lung sack,
runes in cubes seeming to square the circle,
Tetragrammaton in a cyclic continuum
trailing off the canvas, off this Perspex page.
Consciousness is not the only node
responding to this inoculation of meaning —
the body catches the flame, also.
Electrical signals smelt biology and chemistry
from shamanism and alchemy,
distil human genome research from arcane pixels,
coagulate white noise with all this green-black rapid change.
What lies beneath this ladder of coercion
is still beneath;
scumble-over it as we will,
set it free though we may.
Ivy Ireland is a poet, dancer, magician's assistant, mystic, casual lecturer, harpist, bookseller, and sideshow performer. In her spare time she is studying a PhD. Ivy likes cosmology and wishes she understood more about quantum physics.