Because how shall I find what the sword Could do to with the children unbind That lost soul who has been pining for the word That Ill say eventually; but too late Go the horses of instruction, the wrath Of those willing their place within the fount Which grew to engulf the whole world, A seepage of these moods and attitudes. Now where we go roses bloom & die at once However each circle I draw takes me To its middle, its center where I saw Then the demons overtake me; I withhold The mirror that ages me; and just watch These ages upon ages as they swirl, Me apart of them; the rest of my blue-blood Makes me go to another world, keeps Me here within the dark; O its a gift! To catch your eye and live a moment Within the lines as you choke on fate. Voila! Ive cured the sickness that kept me here, Made a necklace of the skulls—I am Kali, And my enemy is Death—I fight for those Whose name we dont pronounce, but live. Now, with this dark gift of speed, I see The lively scores begin to feed, And while they make for my worn heart, Contingencies will be had; for this severed bliss Sweeps through the night with its ensign, And somewhere I learned how you Would turn, and eventually look like Your lover. Now that youve made light of my Art, Relegated me to unconscious pulses, sacred The horses have run from the hills And carried with your memory the rest of us Which has been torn and now bleeds. Unsure of where you go, unable to call From my dank cell—I cloy, I cloy, And from my heart the messenger; And the victim of this chance; And he who capers on the branch; Who listens to the snow mottling Too late to count dead, too early to say born, I live in this pattern to wind on a date And hear me tell what I really think And hear them coil around my feet, Those twin serpents who come up my spine, Who danced here from the dirt, And now they drink of the sacred wine; A bit of them still shrouded, hurt. Well what can I do for the rest of you This thing is becoming actual—and I Am no longer afraid of the wrath. Which isnt to say Im stuck doing bad, For that is not the story at all. Let me describe For you the winter that I can feel Turning my liquid memories into feelings, Let me make of this a something great Which turns out oppression—which is like a shield. I come to this place with my head, To eventually reach the heart ... my wound. Cant you see with your snake eyes The flowering darling who dances in the dark? See by the fire tonight, a flare of passion Repeating itself to sensation & extinguishing The need for it—well, how queer. Its verve can go where mortals die, And sink the flesh beneath the ground In sublimity. It is designed to couch The ideas of the insane, and speak their words All through the night. It hinges upon seconds And with it I am double. Never stopping, Never letting go, I am like the rest of these people Who have distanced their hands from their throat; Who listen, by and by, to the faintness Framing itself here. How can I wonder How it will be? Will it be bad? What makes me think That its devils will punish me? Are you the wrath of god, pouring upon yourself Molten pain; are you heavens messenger, Finally attached to yourself, wedded And soul structuring; in the flood of desperation I choose my kin who laugh in fear; Who hang by ropes to a shallow hope, Manipulated by the puppeteer. God Would descend upon me now, And pick me up. And I think Ive got my sign. I think a remember a better time While still living in this one. So much to tell! Ill move my wings until I fly Away from here, from this old ground; The heart will tell its lovely antics, And I will listen as they play; how old, How old the serpent thats entwined; Giving up itself, casting a shroud Upon the living; Worms squirming Through the ground (an Artists delight Within the vines themselves)
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 07:15:44 +0000
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