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Hymn V

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  • Hymn V

    – – –

    Hymn to Hypatia V
    – – – – – – – –
    irony twists the ends of my thread;
    fray’ed, and tiered this little signal;
    I was completely cordial, and little knew,
    when the locutor, expressive, might
    singe the death of reflections, and sunlight.
    – – = – –
    – – – –

    Mediactivity, thong’dipth’ Ode Deus Ex
    Sunburnt, moonburnt, and steeped in This;
    Sand-blasted, wind-torn, and wandless,
    Wandering the maroon Desert, Warlocke–
    Everything of dying, and yet Love’d.

    Tempests not, that dare not move,
    The sand by his hooded eyes didn’t scratch;
    No scratch upon the glass, we know,
    And no worry about the time’s spent to sow
    A giving to God which some shall never know.

    As before, this queste, and my worrisome self,
    Mal-adaptive; And so unpeaceful, stormy.
    Of course, the weather gets warmer yet.
    And a bit of advice to the ones who Espy,
    My worlde in hurricanes bows before her eyes.

    Nocturne, de Lumiere, Sanctus Dei,
    Feil, Moore, than tan else to tan hide, Scalp;
    Deeper, the recessed edge; my Swan
    Dived into by its reflection, wins, and Straught
    By the frail mind I broke the glass, and thought:

    It must be that this pain which then is Shrinking,
    Talkes to take me with it, lest I be gone,
    No shackle for the minde; Games, vainglorious;
    Pointeing to a decay in morality; Amoral.
    Ambiguousity, and idemnificatio– The Houri–

    Sys. By riddles said in your mother-tongue,
    Listening to hissing, and the beating of drums.
    Listening to thoughts, and assassins
    Listening to thoughts and assassins, in trance,
    Dens of thieves, and the slice of light, dark.

    To as averaging, not made to Break Pact;
    Made to bonde and Binde, overall, and Stande,
    Beneath the Hallowing Dawne which Swirls
    In countless whirls upon my curls, and studies
    Every little move.I make, to actually take part;

    No rule can keep me under, and no where,
    To abject likeness, and likeness seen,
    A mountain that’s made of fire, and the shores;
    Little foot prints where there was no one.
    Windes darke listening and listened through.

    My unapologetic, my worthy Swarthiness,
    As balk, to vomit up the extent of my Day:
    Drunk on wine, and sway’d to and by like this–
    Fields where the flowers can grow, and blisse
    Given, as deductive as the reflections we Dreame



    .
    Everything is very widdershins;
    The world is closed, and my heart
    Is high on drug, on the drip,
    As the silence makes chromium of me.
    And t’your gain is my losse–

    Drip, drip, driplets, drawn by winde,
    Borne dark, and slippery, how the awnings
    Swung loose, and the skye ate everything.
    I saw the axes change, and more.
    I saw what didn’t please me, killed by myself.

    And abject failure, destitute loneliness,
    How her curls didn’t match
    The wrought iron Flair, and how her Oneness
    Came to be to me the only thing I cared for.
    My own being, True love, Aphrodite.

    My stung skin; smarting to catch
    The fire-fly delite; and walks through woods
    Where I’m lost, and you push
    Through the trees, no need to see
    You’re blinde and you pull yourself up to me.

    Can cantankerous thought; pull
    From water the essence of rain;
    Effervesce, and conclude, exclude;
    Pandemonium– Excessive zealotry.
    The downfall of Anyone.

    No glass that could stop us
    From seeing into self.
    No startled bones afflict
    Mortal rage upon its frame,
    The unconscious one.

    Blight, and tarry, and worse,
    Its twins that kill each other
    Forever. And my name,
    God Damn. Blight, and feathers;
    The lost of us in Miserae.

    Dead twins, and their mother.
    Dead mother, scene shutters;
    Eight-millimeter camera shot
    Windowpanes, blights, bestow
    Vestigial anguish at my hands.

    – – – –
    Enact an anti-emblem, enact stilted drama–
    Miserae, before I could know to speak to you;
    My winsome nosey sufeit self accomplice more;
    The paramours, bowers strewn neath moon-hours.
    To stick to the Affairs of the Shrouded Sun.

    Tides as time Swim Nighte Wonder Passed ‘E’nergy;
    Surpassed, til blight became lonesomeness, atrophy;
    Ending me with centuries, of stone that holds me Unfree.
    Delite, in bowers, to plant a lovely hour. No saint Bloode.
    Tin and hollow echo’ey ache; genitive; and spoken hoste.

    Barely free, still, in trances lasting while winde turnes
    Dark in my Eyes my mind I see itself looking, unaware.
    What lubricious heaven, delirious, and all those noises.
    I know no word. There is nothing. Depthless emotion.
    Kinde to the old, the old where Mantikos kept sleeping.

    As in while walking in the shadows I watched
    Denizens pass who had no purpose, and knew
    Nothing of anything at all. No wit, and crumbly.
    The kind of passinge of the unfortunate;
    Where the teeming hosts of elves sudden feeds:

    Delirious, you say the word, you mean,
    As if to say, I am delirious, and I cannot speak
    Elsewise. Watched, by the chrome, the iron.
    The steel bolts as big as a hammerhead;
    Knocking on doors until the people call the cops.

    Windowless lovers in stance of How do you do?
    I do love, and that’s me, and what I imbue:
    How many paces next to you, as I stride,
    Dust that crumbling told me a purpose, of energy.
    I watch the enactment of the anticlimatic drama unwinde.

    Them the Dyssianese sirens interlaced; spliced
    With chains of silver bandse, and the lights
    Draped crost and round the trees hung, high–
    Bedeviled with night-aire, and so indecent,
    That they weed out unwilling my Eyes,

    In the dirty streets, to walk against winde
    And to have my worst night
    Ever. Unable to cope, and without hope
    Supposed to Love, now? That I might
    Gain some after, in this hell I cannot leave?–

    And to leave bring more of it,
    You ask, why, Mother Earth, of Es Spiritas,
    Do your children war, O spiritless ones,
    Having nightmare fights, and fits,
    And boxed into Nothing, nothing again.

    No question, the underneath my Table,
    Tabulating, sincerities, and begotten — the Worlde—
    My xystai holding Up, my Feeble Psyche
    Bent to winde that burns with darksome Stinge–
    Race to a Rat, and the tears lead to the endinge.

    Another, and two others, a Rape in the Sap’py Shade.
    Sunliqht bleeds, to know you’re kinde–
    Unwicked, and step’ping closer through that Dross.
    As lost as a grass-nymph, we lay against the grass,
    And our business we technically minde.

    Not summer yet. But this is our Dreame.
    My nakshatrae– No pool to Divorce.
    And the wanderlustishe, of course, indeed,
    That unwilling rage we’re Culpable of.
    And to take that divided thing and call it love.

    I try my singular will, bespoken and bespott’ed.
    Harsh, angular prism’ed walles, the Castle.
    And wonder expose’d. The thund’rous throes …
    As vents to fly through unliving breath,
    And living to give up the ghost.

    Yours only. Dealt, with candle-liqht,
    And the smell of burning. Something
    Not right. My face feels like
    I am clawed, in Hell, exposed, now.
    My breath is gasoline, sparks,

    And you wonder why
    I die, the counting of the clock.
    And you wonder not
    Why the voices trap’t gin’st the rock
    Cleave to shores where we entwine?

    And the wickedness
    Of one day’s pride.
    Enough to hang me
    On your heel, Achilles,
    Where you burn.

    Heart wrought in Steel,
    And living liquid,
    Hotter than we know,
    Magmatic pleasure,
    How coy,

    Doubling as
    Pleasing singing,
    Down to one chord,
    Trusted, bonds
    Harken unto Whom?–

    Th’ Fates,
    Of course, by name.
    Triple-headed,
    Looking at itself, the Other,
    Without and within.

    Cerberus, Heqate–
    Servants, each, beneath
    One monotheistic Beast
    Harpies hanging
    Like plague over the fields.

    Rotted hopes,
    In dull agony scoped,
    The rest of our Ghost,
    Up in flames,
    Flits of dark.

    He bellowed with an attitude,
    The fire ascendant, the Sinless line,
    Uncrost, to mx’t between us, Malign’d,
    As benign as a tumor and a lemon,
    Indignant speech accosting hungry demon.

    None other than Unsanx. Unio, Com.plei.
    Horses wild, in the rolling hills, forever.
    Water dripping, from the mouth, the River.
    I cannot see the top o’ the mountains,
    In the clouds on a mountain in the water.

    Under the Aegis shield shines,
    Shines that Impetuous Daft Thing.
    One to repine, in nominatives,
    And central proxi-praxiis Reckon.
    Deem’d acceptable, so weird. This–

    Indian Suicide, in Heaven, the girl
    Dead. Missouri streets unpaved,
    Wet, no name meant anything.
    Wettest, in death, and cold dark wind.
    This helpless hopeless world.

    Bestow upon me, that wickedness,
    And my wishes thus, as such,
    Were as much as they are still today, that this–
    I end with my dignity intact.
    I end here, there with you, who are

    Me, with me, without, somethings Stay.
    Slay’d and flay’d to fray in desert,
    I cannot see but it is hot, the hottest,
    And the trees sway, I too am swaying.
    To burn in the wind, uncaring, I’m staying.

    List; Ofttimes Elsewise anointed,
    This point at last to which I pointed.
    Words at rest, stand, and stood still.
    A lot of the beacon broken, and Poisoned.
    There is the sense to settle down,

    Go away, heave, and be, in this raucous.
    None else, in this desert, since,
    And now they pratt’le on each to each;
    And I can see what they actually say,
    And all of it really to me makes sense.

    Heave, to heavier, with little grasp,
    Still searching thru you, pictures kept.
    None to really edit, the ontos, illogic.
    Miserae, and my thought: This lot,
    These whom have fought with a God.

    Put your hands across the way,
    To pave, with bricks, a dome.
    And skate and scratch the Ice,
    Iciness in the desert; thirst for Christ.
    Nothing to remember after.

    Wonder, and thirst, and hunger not
    Meaning to matter, and else
    That caring thought bound with Rose.
    My yesterday still to impose,
    I balance this between the loss.

    Dividing sense from senselessness;
    A broken open fruit, really.
    His gaze of gaping blackness thrown–
    How I could understand that God
    Would turn even Me away.

    My death, a suicide?– That God
    Turned Himself into what he became:
    That lot of himself, with crimson bands.
    Stained, as scales, and scaled,
    And like the material of the fingernail.

    How link’d to this link and the Sun,
    Draft in the Desert Kills a Tree.
    My burnt Offering, My burnt Offering.
    How else than to say what I think,
    And be and being, to Unbecome?–

    Let’s say– Maybe, every day,
    We take the time in our Broken Way,
    May it be a sign, therein, to sudden
    Bestow, and explain, its own Being,
    Such that it may always have meaning,

    Like the footprints down a road,
    Lost, and no accountability,
    Lack of responsibility, across, around
    The corner, in some other time.
    Where is the blood? What do I smell?

    Lovers had entwined, and there were,
    Several. And later, after, all of them
    Pandemonium beset, and lack of Love.
    I knew all of them. I wanted to show
    Care; there, to others, endlessly bestow.

    Like to shake a tree, he answers me;
    His firm grip, and my and his hand together.
    A surge of the Hope. I remember
    Banded together in dreams, half-seen.
    All love to the one who enters by the seam.

    My dream— To hear, across and aloud,
    The air begin to crack, and break,
    Slow-motion– sudden– the wet creek
    Breaks open upon rocks. And I shake
    My plume, my heavy mane, and sound

    Does not escape, a heavy lull;
    The drown’d sounds of Voices,
    Lessening, up and down waves,
    All of them yelling, and I can hear
    You next to me, and I say,

    “Can I be with you next to you?”
    The interposed thought, posie’d.
    Like vines rapt round, and stinging,
    The hands wrapping around me.
    And that dastard foreign Disquiet.

    In the hot air, I lost my sight,
    And could not see to even fight.
    And while they killed what I was,
    And all my time I spent despite
    It was with mine, I loved, and that’s because–

    I’m my own, my love, I know.–
    That I became, traipsed into and from—
    Nightmare in the pond.
    Death for no one else but me.
    And all of it, by the roots of the tree.

    Citrus of the Tropic of Capricorn
    And Cancer so named;
    My undying, and unborn
    Lost shores between
    The one who died for me.

    His name, I only hear Sung
    On Sundays, when the Sun
    Melts his priceless jewel–
    The one behind, bedaz’zled.
    And what it means to say Something.

    Anything. Wonder to behold,
    Escape to consecrate–
    Citrinitas … How he circles,
    Proxima Centauri…
    Zenegeb’uh’L`new’bee’an.

    The alps, lasting underwater,
    Reflected and absorbed,
    Dropped into the water,
    Where sleeps the Daughter,
    Saviour, and Giver of Breath.

    Her, she whom sees
    With me, and watches as it goes,
    The little bits
    Of things we might remember,
    And then we forget.

    To tell the truth,
    And as I said, the truth be told,
    Anyway. As that truth,
    Is not mine, nor yours,
    A resevoir, an ensnarement;

    Nostrils flare– the Wintry Seas
    Above. We watch them fall,
    Watch them jump, into the water.
    We see them freeze. Mid-air.
    There is such cold, frost-bite.

    My toes in the water,
    Wavelets, and the penumbra.
    How else than to Undying Hate
    To give to your beings
    Food to eat forever, forever?–

    We asked, and then asked,
    And asking, we knew not.
    Our own voice was silence.
    We stayed to ourselves.
    There was no Divorce.

    And the voiceless Spoke up.
    And the bent seething Rage,
    His face as red as a pepper.
    Hand by hand, given, so given,
    Nothing left for you. In Heaven.

    Viriditas–
    Answer, vanity, gluttony, jealousy,
    Envy, wrathless,
    Mirthless, unsteady.
    Shores, swimming.

    Mete by measure, the chance,
    Unwilling,
    Undone, and the cost
    Unnumbered,
    We are in our own House.

    Less sleep,
    And little
    Needs must,
    Then we be
    Softer, lionine.

    Not Uraeus–
    Not Uraeus–
    By 14 feet
    You walk tall
    Across, aside.

    The stride,
    I cannot match.
    It’s lithe,
    As in leaf and stem-
    Relationship–

    The Mortality.
    Little whisps.
    Little sips,
    Undyingly,
    We take everything away.

    This is our Forehead Kiss.
    And everything
    Said to us was thus
    Our own seeing, to hear
    Said, and allocate that all.

    Hear, as the hearing,
    As in my ear went open
    To drab lamenting,
    Less ailement,
    The wounds not grievous.



    However, the wounds
    Are forever.
    That I’ve touched,
    And walked further,
    T’ wait in the stark dark.

    No words here.
    Little by the water.
    I have no name, yet
    I swim under
    The waving water.

    And the Crown,
    Uraeus–
    Uraeus–
    Bent as in bow tie…
    And made-up,
    Y tu homilies?

    Winter wavelets banding,
    The sea-creatures
    Moving everywhere.
    Alight, expose’d.
    The tropical weather,

    I could get a sun burn.
    It is so dark
    In some places,
    This light
    Majestic.

    That by the suns till
    I ran across the Moon
    Staunch, defending
    Love, thy bane and boon.
    And mysterium unending.

    I filled a black hole with tiny black holes,
    Til the grinning, cheshire, turned to laughter;
    And the laughter, turned to tears, and pray’r.
    A muttering beneath the Crucifix.
    The feet in the box, confessing my sin.

    And to believe– Time faster than any of this,
    Watched over by Machines.
    And to think, I bleed green blood metallic
    Alloys and the afterimage of Burnt
    Offerings, and I end up learning more.

    Synthetic, abridgement, and soundly
    Spoken the words, aloud, to let go;
    Let go before the day begins, and be
    Golden parched fields without rain.
    Foam like the sea of wheat, calling.

    Faster than the top of the Sky,
    The fattening band so Unbelievable above
    The kissing stars, the prick’led mood.
    Mistake in the Underworld,
    Osiris, won’t your body be put back as one?–

    Non-entailing this wonder, afresh,
    As dew upon weeds the flowers that face
    Each other, in watching for the Myst.
    The faces like glass towers, subsist,
    The faces that drink in the Myst.

    And the hanging There like anything else,
    I must know, Mr Clock Face, do you Clean
    What ever that thing be, on your mind,
    As the purse’d lips, and the haughty, gaudy
    Rip me from my Reverie.

    Rip me from my Reverie, yesterday
    I never knew what anything was, and yet
    I still was there, I keep looking back.
    And in the benchmark’ed trite essay,
    No word from our Amblicus.

    Ring of Tree: Bell of Water: Mouth, ice.
    Little chips on lake, disappearing aisle.
    Where there is nothing there, except
    Scores of birds, the bones of them, anyway,
    And silence like a plague over the fields.

    And with entice’d hungry circling clouds,
    I gathered, like darkness, I didn’t care.
    Everything beneath me that I found, was there
    For God from Me, and this is my Sea.
    Aqua-marine, and the subtly played Euphony.

    Awaiting entry unto the Paradaiso–
    But suddenly, the sink.
    Breaking open upon the Sea, my pent Cloud:
    I went and found my way down,
    I found my way past the edge of the World.

    No longer able to turn
    The object into me,
    The Enactment dramatic,
    The subtles interpose.
    Liquid Lethe Boiling.



    By his stomach,
    Rumbling, and scare,
    The beetle
    In my mouth
    Wings outstretched.

    Rachael is brown as the dark bark,
    except grey some days,
    when allays fact from fiction, the Ark
    wonted to her while;
    as gay as sunliqht mix’t in the stark air.

    no other than she,
    of skin of pale tone, and cheek bone
    fit to make the cheek sink in.
    laughter you can taste
    draining the soul.

    Like the desert fathers,
    The Arabian nights,
    They all know each other,
    They talk in tones,
    Indecent, dissonant.

    Like harsh light
    Drowns everything
    Darkness flees,
    Against a backdrop
    Lulls in paradise

    The Elysian Box–
    Worriless,
    As God.
    Hands that built
    This house.

    Deeper, go deeper,
    You always
    Go deeper.
    Good to be
    Deeper.

    Living to cast protect, the acorn
    Burns the air, a Mighty oak.
    Rainbow silk, drips on skin, shorn
    Of pride, and weighy things.
    Those were the words we used.







    Ribbon of flesh, tied in a knot,
    And the sequens in your eyes
    Dark, and then light, dark and then light.
    Where in the book I saved your spot
    And all which led to my demise.

    Dies Irae– Miserae– Dyssian thought–
    Hammer plunged, withheld breath.
    The sound of the voices, Lost.
    And what we understand to have seen
    Walking next to us the entire time.

    Walking above, on paths untread,
    And the musical score, of soundtrack afternoon;
    Your noonish fog, still cold–
    Your absenteeism, and the dry light;–
    Hear the leaves scuttle, and scrape, and later,

    Make a gradient of the grass,
    As in from dead to closer to life;
    As in the witness of that Word,
    While I pass myself by, humbly,
    And the efforts, husbandry, midwife.



    A reason why; Reasons How;
    No other thought than “I shall go”,
    And ending up at someone’s door—
    The manifest dwelling, rapture, abode.
    At God’s own behest, the storm rages.

    At home in small and large things both–
    Holding in my pocket– God–
    And the little sips from the side of my mouth;
    O how you shivered, the word “blood”–
    And there in a pool which reflected you, stood,

    The test of time, a timely blight;
    To wash upon the shore while they sing;
    And the waves part, the waves roll
    Along the Seashore, in waving lines.
    You wave in the wind and the haze.

    And where you’re obsequious,
    Teasing the rampart from your mind.
    And when you’re seethng, vanquish
    The thought “I’m having to control
    This bastion of my fleeing soul.”

    The thought “I have nothing else to do;
    And I am terribly afraid of you.”
    What good does that do?–An Excuse
    To withhold those lovely things.
    I am blinde, now, to your doings.

    While we watch, D’Heqa at the fire–
    While her eyes dance, lovely little gems.
    Beading in the presence, dews
    From across the way settle, perspire;
    The oaken forest and its deadly dead.

    By ghosts, haunted;
    The castle that we made, where in each bed
    Sleeps the century away.
    Our forms you never see
    Having breakfast, dinner together;
    And we each are dead to touch.

    One cocked head,
    In the window, watching,
    The bird’s song in my throat.
    One plume’d sunrise,
    And its enchantment over me.

    Along the walls of the Sky,
    You left me parts of you.
    You said, preternaturality,
    That thing that We Do —
    Knots, web’bed. Understanding,–

    I rise from fire, then like ash
    I soak up moisture from the air.
    I am the living impasse,
    Impossible to pass, and surpassed.
    The eye’s bright, sharp glare ….

    Now, by the bright gleaming molten light,
    They heard, deeper in the cavern,
    A voice, like rasping, crack’ling thunder;
    And the Victim of the Undead Wyrm,
    In the throes of its own Unrespite.

    Wydde’d Dyssian. How perfidy,
    Succumbe’d like a spreading Woe,
    Touche’d me, but did not move me.
    And the ends of my fingers You. —
    This, beyond disrepair, without truth.

    The eggs unhatch’ed, and to know,
    “Someone lives deeper on in there:– They move
    Too deep, and too dark within,
    And the shedding of light, kills them.
    They of this Dark Beam within me.”

    Last, to know, “They would not Move
    When they had to move–
    We were heading for a collapse,
    “We were heading for a collapse.”
    This, the truth, the last thing we know.

    Conceptuals broken, let the residuals Spell,
    That the stoking fire be louder, brighter still;
    No reasons other than Else; Wise Old Men,
    Webbed by the Minced Water, Choppy spill.
    Over the side of the boat we throw the Ideas.

    Like sloshing yours to my own Sword,
    And the word, uneluded, and Sordid, Spurn’t;
    A key move in the Knight’s being King’d.
    As the sore knowing and realizing of He,
    Worried about the wrong thing the entire time.

    As Xryst– Non-pareil, the homily;
    My own breath Given, as in where goes
    My soul without control from Outside.
    External Locus of Control, turned
    Into internal, and how else than you Would?–



    Skipped, and shorn, the Ideal Paradise,
    Where sleeps the wyrm with No eye.
    And the worm, the viper, as we watch his
    Hissing sight, in taste of Sun, swallowing,
    And his foresight, foreshadowing dimensions.

    Where he kept, and he kept that Species,
    His tree that never died, and left Me,
    And mine. And when he said those words,
    What did he mean?– I listened for Amblicus. …
    In the weeds I heard you whisper,

    In the weeds I heard your whisper.
    And naturally, I came, by that haunt;
    Familiar as God, to never Unreach,
    And the Esper, and the Ethyr. Wonted,
    By your own Cell, Prism’d. Speak, then.

    By dead bodies, and what’s more?–
    Dead planets, with the zombie, Host–
    And what’s your Word, spelt to mine?
    Mercy Kill. That is the meaning of “Ghost”.
    When I am back, when I am gone.



    I heard you by the weeds, speaking.
    Who was around, and what were you doing?–
    By that night-tide, piazza to Cittegazze–
    And the words you spoke on the shore.
    What was the meaning, why do you Stop?–

    I am the thing that you Ended with;
    I am the words, press’t against you, like lips
    That meant, in the end, to settle a kiss;
    And ended in you falling, falling forever.
    What torture, to know the plain truth.

    I never listened, at all, to you
    When you tried to tell me “Do not”–
    You basically, in the end, said, “Do”.
    And every time you changed
    You said the same truth about you, regardless.

    I never listened to you,
    As you said, what it means, and how
    You meant to say the things
    I wanted to hear, and you meant
    None of it, anyway, so I say,



    And how?– How I watch her
    Grow, and she moves within the words,
    Binah– By name, and hers to own.
    By the beach, by the buzzards,
    The scene is different.

    And you’re in your own pose,
    While I watch where you go–
    Andromedan Slave — Where do you look?–
    BY the Sea, where we kept you
    Kept you inside where you tried to keep me.

    – – – –
    Yet in th’ end it’s you whom I know as myself,
    As draped as liqht liquid through the Expanses bled;
    Midst the trees and sunliqht, sprites, in Snow;
    Bled like the colored, warm painting melts,
    Blinde by the Hande which crosst the Gap.

    While those withered fingers Grimme,
    And the ones who keep talking about the Thrum
    Between my Eggs and eggs, talking,
    That they swim to another corner, another edge.
    That by the edge of Them, we See,

    Enacted on this worriless sphere, his Voice,
    Clear, but red-dark– The thrum within the lair;
    And its pray’r of the children, voiced. There,
    I saw it all and had my own choice to Make, and stare
    At the eggs, and up there it was Gross–

    I touched the walls, and felt the knots of things,
    What is this?– It feels like the words, and the acts of men,
    And that they talk, it comes to me, and while I sing,
    They all seem to be capering, wildly, and screaming in pain.
    O fell not my sea nor my star, little ruby sky.

    Ask me Why. This is no words to you,
    What else but that I scream right back, so Ingratiate,
    That you make such exposure of your Pain,
    That we amplify you again. How delicate,
    We look back and laugh at Death. How wry. Right?–

    To the tone of the voice which is sheathed
    In lightning, ready to strike, and its own wake, sequestered,
    On the waves, rolling, rolling away.
    And gone too far, you have to go a little further,
    The snake has a tongue which smells, and is fork’ed.





    Listen, and with him Dance, his own Uraeus–
    What is this Hissing, that hissing which I fear? —
    Still you’re there, and I do not care; in the air, the smell
    Of the eggs, and I move my head, slower, then.
    The smell of some dusk next to the entrance to Hell.

    Flowers made from the shit where we Eat,
    And the shift where we work next to the phone,
    Hoping to die, and be able atleast to call.
    While I am dreaming again. And there’s the Shop.
    It’s our Vacation, and we are only me.

    It’s that I walk in, and find that every dream
    Is full of nothing. I walk and there are no people;
    The buildings fall, too, and I am only
    Watching things about myself move,
    And crawl, like spiders, over their own webs.

    The voices are becoming less clear now,
    And they in their way will be silenced, yes,
    Where not even I can care, nor hear
    What they end up being– After this. After this.
    ‘A’fter this, my threnody, and the jag.



    Unspoilt eggs, and the dreamer, bent, anyway.
    Atlas, and his shoulders like mountains,
    And the Olympian pantheon.
    So beautiful, next to the Auraes. Eagles
    Scream through nests where chill frost Hoars.

    And we listen to the crags
    Sing to the mountains who’ve lived
    Longer than anything.
    To say the rock never moves,
    Or doesn’t like nor dislike.

    As high as the sun where we stepped,
    Between stars– and your glare,
    Next to us who web this Ark, in dew,
    And sing to the Monsters Out There.
    It sounds like me singing to you.

    And the words– My word– How I bring
    Thoughts of stillness, idleness, and after,
    The worth in my Works,
    And my word be whatever you can Hear.
    Listen– Angels:– the Hourî—



    Glean’d from this drip of poison from the fang,
    BY steady hand, the promising milk.
    How we hang in motionlessness, and the work
    Of the day, –it is morning, grey– and we see Pan.
    Gone from the fire of the burning Crop.

    Sickle next to the body, as we Work,
    Next to the Sun shadowing and knowing.
    That it might be such an unending Stark world,
    My words again. As glass bitten,
    Drawn blood, from the filter, like God’s own.

    It works: We get the venom, and not
    Death: That fell’d and slain puppetmaster.
    Whose worlds and works,
    –Non Pareil– Stand still for this:

    Seconds pass, and the snake slithers
    Away. Here we are,
    And the hissing in the woods,
    And the sound of the birds at play,
    Withers me, I am delirious.

    I can’t stand; I fall. I am slightly blurry,
    And all I am is fading,
    I can’t feel that my body is rejecting
    As well as consuming (trying to consume)
    The liquid with which it was introduced.

    Killing me, slowly, that it now burns,
    And my hands, I can’t move to my throat;
    I cough, it is like glass breaking,
    I drip a drip of blood; my insides
    Liquefy. And I am almost dead.

    From afar watch, those Souls,
    Where within them there is Something
    That is Not made of Soul.
    I grow, and I die, and I care not about Him.
    By the nest of vipers and the berry, I am.

    Suddenly all the notes like presents brought
    Upon the wintry shores, where tears
    Drip from moons, watching down, from above.
    That thought by thought so interlinked,
    Was to us the only thing that made sense: Love,

    So curse’d, to know you down there,
    Mixing with the cess of Humanity. And you,
    Witnesses of the Century Passing,
    And sinking below the threshold,
    That euphony of the forest Elves Singing.

    What about all the ones that Remain
    Come to my door, and step
    Between the frame and the Step, below,
    Where I watch from Trees eyeing
    The sky with my bin-ocular minds.

    That what’s left of this Battle,
    To war with myself, and watch you watch me.
    That to kiss the sunburnt leaves,
    And to watch the breaking of them, so brittle,
    And watch the burning light placed.

    Amongst midnight washing,
    Washing the entire scene with you and I.
    I sink below the clouds,
    And under the water paved
    With your words, of wires, webs, singing, I and you.

    And the Hell below us is Froz’n.
    And we are the kinship of our kind.
    Our kindly wanderers, who take
    By the hand the Elemental Kingdom,
    And queendom that Lives.

    Stoic to Tree, to Large to Smaller Hive;
    Queen Bee Large. Thunder to
    This?– In my days of the haze stealing
    His soul, his soul I heard
    Silence. Do I care to say nothing?–

    It’s my choice, to say
    What that I might mean, if it
    Be so unhealthy, then it won’t speak.
    And I keep myself,
    And you keep you, we win.

    Else: That by these chords
    Spread, and sickly writhe, with venom
    And his dreamt by his,
    These we are sickened by,
    In the dark nest of His Eye.

    Fall, from the Auburn painted Rain–
    And from your Eyeing this,
    All across, splash’d and again, the day
    Rains down, in lines we lose
    Color, and so does our Eye.





    Coldest Star– From the North–
    Come from my winter Wind unto me–
    Now you may See, now you may
    See, how Infidelic teeth bite into
    Rain, and only water, and less, after. —-

    Normally, a being such as myself,
    To test the Other, wills itself formless, presses
    Against the thing it wishes to express.
    That from inside the core it can become Open
    And the lasting, to regain by this Regress.

    Upon an ancient Sea of Glitter and of Dust,
    The eyes have seen which shores whitened, withhold–
    By the vestibular Binary Station of Vu–
    Denizens of this Stable Eco-Ergo-Ecce—
    Astralis— Lustral– As every sentience goes …

    An opinion: To be cold is better.
    Opinionated, as with Them, we see, watching
    Together, while we draw from water,
    More water, somehow?– Mix with Me,
    Into this Sea and the Xrystai World–

    No eye to See except to feel is best,
    When even we look down when it passes–
    Its brim of sky, with a yawn, extends,
    With dew, so wet we see it vanish–
    And it ends with the Orange burning Myst.

    What do I have to do to prove to you
    That I finally exist, and am here for you,
    And you end with this Evergreen Dew, you and you
    Whims to me whom whimsy pleases, so, you
    And you go to so and so, and they Listen:

    When you fina’lly connect, each dot becomes
    One world we know; and to Separate brings
    Dilation. Every word here Missed.
    As the separation brings beings Ill-invested.
    And by this their own Extinguishment.

    Destroyal, from the sea shell, parched;
    In the skies where we circle, to drop
    In the water, and wavelets break ‘pon our pale brow;
    As to see you next to me, still, and Speechless….
    This is all that I will ever know!







    How Sagittarius laughs, to bespeak
    Such emotion as I impute, and impugn, to see
    Sheltered and shielded, by this Sky,
    The ends scorch my ends, and we Melt.
    I am someone who has turned Invisible.

    There is within me a sense of Child-like innocence;
    And the waves set in Freezing Wind
    Stood still. We watched the craft of Mother Earth,
    Become Terra — How softly she walked over
    To give you a kiss, O my dear Amblicus.

    But you were asleep. And that sleep
    You kept your eyes shut, and beneath
    You was the grave, and above, the grave.
    And she is in there with you in Earth
    And she still cares to know what you are.

    Slave!– Hiss of Vesper —
    And the ending of the Dream (again–)
    I am walking from inside a Cave,
    And I am disappointed. Then,
    Corners where I must have been.



    Even last night, —
    There I was in the air, trying nothing
    To be myself, and the whole world,.
    From the corner I took a shadow
    And played with myself, like a toy.

    Even I then
    Could see that I was my best friend–
    That I would always be
    Attached to this thing;–
    That is how I always knew.

    Even now,
    I have feelings I don’t want
    To control, nor have them control me.
    That is all. I love you so.
    Here I am, here I am.

    Rainment chose to burn,
    And in your burning dwell,
    By the traveler lonesome
    Taken in, by me who am That:
    This thing made of Love!

    Choose to burn, and release
    The estuary, and enshrine
    Beneath you That Paradise
    You always dreamt.
    That I could be that thing,
    And I have my own to Make!

    Even I–
    As the glass breaking around us
    Melts and reflects
    How next to this sudden Grasp
    Of iron, my nails still scratch
    To know your heavy eyes

    Drugged in the Twilight,
    After being so long in the Forest,
    And lulled by me
    Closer to the beginning, the mouth
    Of the cave and the water.

    From beneath the Ground,
    Came vapor, and the dew that formed
    Interspersed, and you came,
    Your form, sat next to me, to play.
    A little toy, you were to me, we played. …



    Like nothing else,
    Even I stand, to searchingly believe
    You who gave me this Command.
    To know that I am naked
    To heaven, and in heaven, the snakes sleep.

    By the song which they hear,
    I sing, and in my own voice to tell you things
    I go to sudden sphere where Undertows
    Bring to us this ancient street,
    Paved with mines, where we so silently watch

    Walking between the two,
    As the legs of the Above Arch,
    And we watch from its Center that we Drop,
    Parts of us on Teknikos–
    And that all we see beginning to walk upon the Earth.

    Tara– Blessed Tara, deserving beauty,
    And to love you kiss the Houri–
    To live you kiss, again, and I’m me–
    How deft to know we suddenly see,
    That I am the one Invisible.



    None else, but that I know
    Games to play where humans Go–
    And my swords which point
    Will always meet that end.
    Killed by itself, and drained of its Steel.

    Melted in the heart
    Where the flowers drop’t.
    In the incarceration O’ our Hopes!
    That singing bird which burns
    To screech again, the lasting years.

    He yearns, to Extra-Terrestria–
    Magnetize your Eyes
    Towards this sudden centre, in Saturnalia
    Bequeathed, abd bequeather,
    Tara, reborn, as the Saviour of the Earth.

    Beneath the folds of Caves
    Winds her viper. Silently,
    She opens the eyes
    Of a silky little Spider.
    Arachne begins to breathe again.



    Worlds Crosst by the Wires
    “Draped by this
    Beneficent spider,”
    The answer to the Wyrm;
    O, endless and uncaring Hurt?–

    ._.
    \| ; |/
    _| |\- – -( – )- – -\| |_
    \-\
    \.’\
    ._.

  • #2
    Do you by chance have this published?? I read poems often as a way to pass the time and reading this feels a lot like Déjà vu

    Comment


    • #3
      No I have a wordpress: https://amenora.wordpress.com/

      Thanks with love for sharing yourself, I am glad to know you.

      Comment


      • DepressingPoem
        DepressingPoem commented
        Editing a comment
        To be in no way rude... But If you knew me as the people in my everyday life... You wouldn't be so glad and thank you sometime you should write a poem book I think with you talent it would sell quite well...
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