WHAT IS THE ELDRITCH TREE
It is The Muse that tithes and binds
That which inspires and respires
That concerned with the transfiguration of idea into pulp and ink and matter that can be draped and used and worked over
It is the ushering of the magickal into the material
The compulsion to create without consumption
The idiosyncratic gesture of the speaker made lexicon.
It is Old and Scarce and Secret
And it calls out to those who listen
Those who make
Those who hunger to hew new shapes unending
Those who have skipped meals, lost in their work
Those who see the colors sprouting in blank canvas
The verses unwritten in empty pages
The forms trapped in hunks of clay
And the songs unborn,
Their tintinnabulation echoing in the silence.
Its roots and trunk spindle through time in both directions
And our many hands, infinite and outstretched,
Are its countless branches.
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