It was certainly a very dark day to leave it all behind: the illusions of trees, country and a son, as the youth was swallowed by the hungry waves full of devils and soul assassins. No Calypso or friend, not even a father to save the day from the notorious tragedies of the sea, the lesser known depths where the eyes of fish gradually disappear.
Z is compatible en morning revelation as dawn bleeds over the palest star: zephyr, zoraster, zero, zen. Those in vaults are diamonds where the eldest prisoners tortured are chaste, rehabilitated and ready. Privy to the static age old whisper: dia-gnosis.
Aftermath to etc., aftermath to was, aftermath shall be the vague carress of temptation a fancy term: Mighty apocrypha, tear down these walls.
The moths and bees know the history of the planets and high pitched voices carry the most ancient stories in subtle sounds of mating and destructions. They understand violence and capture as well as they've taught the secrets of Solomon, his staff and the termites who gnawed at the fictions. The bugs scurry away to their tunnels secreting the taste of what rots with the odor and maps of footprints of those who left the bodies to waste. Ground waters carry the dead scents into the cavernous aqueducts or toward the sky to be carried along with the seeds of all blessings and injustice. Poetry is easy if you know the languages.
....I think of the wordiness and the lost paths, the Gretel like trails that were put down so that more could be written and secreted, like the tobacco moth, the tobacco gracehoper and simply, the tobacco packers of the Levant...oh! The Erotic Life!
Now that was a fine day for poetry!
Before the war started in earnest against the lost tribe of Uzair and Zarathustra....oh mean guesser. What an incredibly long selah.
Where memory liveth, it takes its state Formed like a diafan from light on shade Which shadow cometh of Mars and remaineth Created, having a name sensate, Custom of the soul, will from the heart; Cometh from a seen form which being understood Taketh locus and remaining in the intellect possible Wherein hath he neither weight nor still-standing, Descendeth not by quality but shineth out Himself his own effect unendingly Not in delight but in the being aware Nor can he leave his true likeness otherwhere
5 comments:
The Ark
It was certainly
a very dark day to leave
it all behind: the illusions
of trees, country and a son,
as the youth was swallowed
by the hungry waves
full of devils and soul assassins.
No Calypso or friend,
not even a father to save the day
from the notorious tragedies
of the sea, the lesser
known depths where the eyes
of fish gradually disappear.
The Last Letter
Z is compatible
en morning revelation
as dawn bleeds over the palest star:
zephyr, zoraster, zero, zen.
Those in vaults
are diamonds where
the eldest prisoners tortured
are chaste, rehabilitated and ready.
Privy to the static
age old whisper: dia-gnosis.
Aftermath to etc., aftermath to was,
aftermath shall be the vague carress
of temptation a fancy term:
Mighty apocrypha, tear down these walls.
When Moths Visit
The moths and bees know the history
of the planets and high pitched voices
carry the most ancient stories
in subtle sounds of mating and destructions.
They understand violence and capture
as well as they've taught the secrets
of Solomon, his staff and the termites
who gnawed at the fictions.
The bugs scurry away to their tunnels
secreting the taste of what rots
with the odor and maps of footprints
of those who left the bodies to waste.
Ground waters carry the dead scents
into the cavernous aqueducts or toward
the sky to be carried along with the seeds
of all blessings and injustice.
Poetry is easy if you know the languages.
....I think of the wordiness and the lost paths, the Gretel like trails that were put down so that more could be written and secreted, like the tobacco moth, the tobacco gracehoper and simply, the tobacco packers of the Levant...oh! The Erotic Life!
Now that was a fine day for poetry!
Before the war started in earnest against the lost tribe of Uzair and Zarathustra....oh mean guesser. What an incredibly long selah.
Wow, amen.
Where memory liveth,
it takes its state
Formed like a diafan from light on shade
Which shadow cometh of Mars and remaineth
Created, having a name sensate,
Custom of the soul,
will from the heart;
Cometh from a seen form which being understood
Taketh locus and remaining in the intellect possible
Wherein hath he neither weight nor still-standing,
Descendeth not by quality but shineth out
Himself his own effect unendingly
Not in delight but in the being aware
Nor can he leave his true likeness otherwhere
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