" why?" i asked,

in the desert of reason

the white bones of a dead tree

bearing mute testimony

to the dryness of the season.

 

" why," said he,

" there is nothing more

than a few simple truths,

their number being four: "

 

his knowledge distended

like fruit from a tree -

" all meaning is fabricated,

as are all gardens places

where plant communities

are cultivated artificially. "

 

"secondly,

everything is relative

to your perception of it,

you see. "

 

" three

is the number of generation:

two & what moves between

their relativity.

creation

is something from nothing,

a fabrication

without a face until seen

then brought into being

to be,

born in the space

where worlds merge

between us existing

as free as birds

or in simple words:

perception is creation,

if you mean what i see. "

 

& grasping it all

in the palm of my hand,

" what then?"  i asked,

the other

drawing meaningless lines in the sand.

 

" no more!"  he roared,

" knowing this you know

the paradox:

a god in a box;

the knowledge you own

unlocks all the locks. "

 

" answers you seek,

& it is as they say: the meek

shall inherit the earth.

now, let us play! "

 

upon the desert dry

his laughter rolled outwards

as he parted my fingers

within my grasp revealing

a  single snakebone die.

 

the game began:

stretching outwards forever

on either side the sand.

 

never did i feel so alive

as i drew back my hand

& rolled a five.

 

" the number of man...

what will you wager

if best me you can? "

 

" i'll bet you your soul

for your knowledge i own, "

said he lasciviously,

touching me upon the breast

& miraculously

the number six appeared

on the dirty snakebone

as it came to rest.

 

" if man is five

then the number of the beast

from the legion of mankind is taken

& by one increased. "

 

this he said as he stood

in the shadow of the tree

standing there where there were

more shadows than there should be

 

& gathering dead wood

he said unto me:

" the fare is threadbare

yet tonight shall we feast! "

 

i asked him then

for the last of his lore,

wanting that final piece

then wanting no more.

 

" touch the shape of the last truth

for it is like your memory, "

said he as the hour grew late,

pouring sand into my waiting hand,

" & perhaps your body

will remember more than your mind

for the order of things accumulates

as the story unwinds

like the tail of a snake

spilling its story

upon the desert's slate,

& soon you will forget

just where you began:

wandering in the wilderness

with the soul of a snake

coiled in the body of a man. "

 

i felt the grains

slipping through my fingers -

" the harder you hold, " said he,

" the less it lingers. "

 

" yet one thing remains

that you can never lose

& i could never ask you to forsake

your hope least you choose

though my vast kingdom

i would lay at your feet

as my stake. "

 

something snaked then

from the depths of his gaze

& i thought his words lies

when he turned to one side

as if his flesh were a guise

for something cold coiled inside

 

yet when he turned once again

his eyes were ablaze

with tongues of cold fire

nothing more or more alive

lived within his smouldering gaze

& i saw i was deceived.

 

not knowing the rules

i spoke as a child:

" just one last throw, sir,& one last call,

as the shadows deepen

& the sun's fire burns small.

the stakes are yet low -

a wager if you would, sir:

the winner takes all. "

 

a rising wind

rode where it would

on the back of the desert

its shape-shifting mood

changing

the very ground on which i stood

 

& the rising moon

in the nothingness of the sky

haloed the head

of the shiftless stranger

as throwing the bone

to me he said:

" my

desire licks its fingertips,

hungering for more. "

 

something slithered

at the edge of the night

where the withered tree

distended its filigree

& tongues of fire

intertwined serpentine

with a handful of sticks

to devour the darkness

with their flickering light.

 

the die was cast

& i saw my destiny

in the dirt; my lot

the same as his last:

a six.

 

chaos reigned

as overhead the sky

opened blackly

like the wings of a fly.

 

" the ever-rolling abyss !

there is only one way out..."

he hissed,

the sibilant sound

reverberating around us

as a mote of dust

swirled into my eye

obscuring my sight.

 

" all that i need

this dark night

is one higher than thee,

& needs must

when the devil drives,"

he bellowed as the winds grew wild

& he let fall his die in the dust.

 

i could not see

the number he cast

in the shadowy filigree

yet i saw his eyes shine

as he spoke one last time:

" the game is mine! "

 

" a seven ?" i asked,

whereupon he

turned to me & smiled...