Into the jaws of bear

Here's my latest attempt at modern poetry. Am I getting closer?

I.
On the other side of ego the bear lives.
On the other side of ego—off the cliff
that takes the step of faith to leave.
One foot presses out to egoless space,
the other foot remains, anchored and groan
into the rock, the foot and rock are one.
Ego tendrils grow up around the leg
over the arm and clutch the hand,
holding hands in strangling grip.
To get to the bear the leg must break
off the foot and chop the hand.
No step
to the bear is easy.
The hopefull bear looks up.

II.
If I break off my leg,
the lifeless, granite one,
will it grow back?
When I step to the bear
will he restore the ripped off limbs?
Or teach me to dance
a one-footed hop to the sound of one hand clapping?
Or will I bleed out minerals from the stump
proving my heart of stone pumps
dry grit of boulders
through veins and arteries of rock?
Dead volcanoes.

III.
Purple chips the rock-foot, granite ankle,
cracks the flesh, the bone, the mineral
veins running through the mountain.
Shuddering quake. Purple dissolves the rock.
Water into crevices freezes, flakes the stone
to harmless Indian artifacts, elf-bolts,
imagined battles. Fissures grow
as my cock crows the day’s betrayal.
Jesus knows no more.

IV.
Soren, Soren, take my remaining hand. Together
we step off and soar to bear’s mouth,
into the teeth, around the tongue,
blessed holy tongue of grace and truth,
a beacon light of uvula
(vulva’s phonemic sister).

V.
Light ursine entrails calls.
Blindly through the past and ever green,
the evergreen pure and lively
against the shallow brown.
Jaws of life, a road 500 long, they’re dead.
Don’t look glowering at corpses. Hang them
in heaven’s vault within the stomach lining.

VI.
Naked thighed, wetly within the bear;
Soren’s stayed in waistcoat and pantaloons behind.
Costumes of ego dissolved in sunset digestion.
Let my naked prayers be heard,
digest me, please. Skin worn off
by cilia’s work, then muscle, fat, and bone.
The bear remains.