Perchance the bliss did yon abound
With matin o'er the roses bleed
And marigold wane safe and sound
With moonlit spots into the weed
Whereon with garment of our woe
We were betroth'd with joyance ere
Thence diapasm of nether snow
Cered corse of us decumbent near
As cold cerastes stitch'd our lips
And Phoebe devour'd the sailor in
Old circus yet the mad child nips
Hallowed by Mother Lorenin
Thence just two phantoms lorn and shend
Fare on the void pale-lighted dim
Moonwalking as the arbusts send
The mammoth shadows from their limbs
(And crater ribs gargantuan like the melancholy of non-departure,
the music of abandoned station, thy raven dusk, thy widowed grief,
primordial revel of the rain where all the viper sylphids masturbate and
mar the myrrh, alloy our wine with blood tears and out the candelabra,
where Satan King shares elf-struck zested cates and Satyr Prince plays chess
for sake of sailor...)
Now let me lay among the thousand feet
A thousand wheels with lilac petals thrown
The Magus had prescribed the scent defeat
To heal a soul with Bahnhof and hydron
Septentrion would summon it's dead bears
And night would glow with that consenting light
I'll grab you like the wallet, Selene mare,
With unrelenting darkness to bedight
And we should fare to Pruitt-Igoe
Where stench and scream are graven in its buhr
A white dove drowned in sewage hours ago
As heaven vomits with its greasy fur
Unconsciousness is better than the fair
The lepra on thy face tastes like the grape
And I shall screw you bended on a dare
In elevator of unending rape
Deformity is where we all came from
We're nursed by malice legoed to destroy
The sepia of our smothered form
The symbol of the lie we've been decoyed
(And when the circus is empty again and the plasticine moon defecates me with
its lunar-band yet unchowed, I shall put on my jumper and murmur the
sea-song...)
No premonition in this silver rain
Just molten dreams fulfill reverb'rant scape
I hear my trow's nepenthean quatrain
As far above the livid sun should gape
Soothed by the slumber in the petrichor
I hear the matin o'er the marigold
Still mesmerized with gleam of watery chords
It tastes like childhood backed into a fold
Where all of dirt becomes the copper gold...
<2017>