Jon Tribble: Anubis Online
… every god that is dead can be conjured again to life, as any fragment of rock from a hillside, set respectfully in a garden, will arrest the eye.
—Joseph Campbell, Historical Atlas of World Mythology
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A feather doesn’t weigh enough to judge the hearts trapped here,
these pyramids of endless pathways wired out and into nothing.
Take a mind and unravel its chatter, capture and attach images
of the dead and living dead crowding the electronic antechambers,
these pyramids of endless pathways wired out and into nothing,
and you will find them all eventually, sisters and brothers
of the dead and living dead crowding the electronic antechambers,
a congregation of the bought and sold, exposed and invisible.
And you will find them all eventually, sisters and brothers
in this new temple, the spiders weaving all together for this web,
a congregation of the bought and sold, exposed and invisible
at once, alone and together as the keyboards act as abacus
in this new temple, the spiders weaving all together for this web
of whirring engines worrying the underworld and heavens
at once, alone and together as the keyboards act as abacus
taking a full account of the human stupor, the silly whine
of whirring engines worrying the underworld and heavens
with the flesh and scores, the flashing news of yesterday forever
taking a full account of the human stupor, the silly whine
of passing fashion, the lasting pain of loss eroding in the crash
with the flesh and scores, the flashing news of yesterday forever
behind the next moment and the next. Manners, like the decay
of passing fashion, the lasting pain of loss eroding in the crash
waiting for every system, the simplest act of kindness missing
behind the next moment and the next—manners like the decay
of a corpse abandoned by the desert birds—only the jackal
waiting for every system, the simplest act of kindness missing
from the long teeth, the cry in the dark the only reminder
of a corpse abandoned by the desert birds. Only the jackal
knows the sharp edges bone becomes under the pressure
from the long teeth, the cry in the dark the only reminder
the way back is forward, the chain a trick, a deception that
knows the sharp edges bone becomes under pressure.
When the opening of the mouth releases the spirit’s essence,
the way back is forward, the chain a trick, a deception that
opens window upon window until there is no way home.
When the opening of the mouth releases the spirit’s essence
and the user becomes the used, the browser conspires,
opens window upon window until there is no way home
except to follow the jackal, to stand before judgment’s scales
and the user becomes the used. The browser conspires
to take the heart, though there are no jars to hold it, no way
except to follow the jackal, to stand before judgment’s scales,
tumble into the maw of this hunger. So let us gather close
to take the heart, though there are no jars to hold it, no way
to take a mind and unravel its chatter, capture and attach images,
tumble into the maw of this hunger. So let us gather close—
a feather doesn’t weigh enough to judge the hearts trapped here.
Copyright 2017 Jon Tribble
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Anubis, Egyptian God of the Afterlife
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The Body of Abel Found by Adam and Eve by William Blake, 1826 (Tate)
