Come under. Come under!
Tezcatlipoca,
Tezcatlipoca del Norte
invites you!
Come under from the rage of the sun.
Come to where it is cool above the pulsing
magma that breathes beneath
the soothing fabrication of climate
you imagine you still control.
You will caress the gentle cooling,
the congealing wads of gold, molded
to the shape of your grasp,
the claws of your eyes wide open
above the magma-belched diamonds,
blue, yellow—
clear,
Clear as virtual dreams clenched,
jammed tight into your pockets,
woven into the intestines of your clean greed.
Open wide.
Lucky you.
Not having cold obsidian’s mirror acuity to mull
beyond pure reason,
a literality beyond thought.
Imagine your safety.
Bring a friend.
Come under where it is cool, where
Earth Herself
offers relief from the soul-searing surface.
The fire of desert rock,
the gathering heat,
whirling molecules of evolution,
the magma and moil
of evolution in the turbine of new eruption.
Come under. Come under, the chill
obsidian voice repeats.
Come under!
Earth invites you,
who offers relief from the heat,
relief from the truth that the sun sends
racing toward the jiggling
atoms you know as you,
that,
for your illusion of comfort
you must not know how,
in a shadow of security, evolves
the re-creative lighting
of your extinction.