Unclap your millennial gates
& unhinge the heavenly armor
ye knights & bishops
The checkmate age of the sky
gods gone. No more lords
Melt old swords
Enough of kings & courts &
benedicites before the killing sieges
Forget our specie’s royal fist
The orchard opens up its stores
Each tree a throne
Each peach a prince
Each kami Kali spiderqueen
freely spinning silk
from out her own divine innards
Not caught in the web
but dancing the wind’s harp
This rural canticle sung
yes, to raise praise on high
Holy! Holy! Holy!
But also to dig deep below
To be embedded
in the thick mud of the mystery
enough of
kingdoms!
Instead
let there be kindoms!
The fungal kindom. The floral
kindom. The faunal
kindom
where we hum the body’s every bone
in honor of the making &
the yet unmade
All of us kin. Co-creators
In conversation, McRedeye sez
with what shines
And with those divine
goddess rhizomes
rooted in the deeper dark
where life springs
full-blown from
the spark of matter
Reprinted from Kinship: Belonging in a World of Relations, Vol. 1: Planet.
