02-11-2022, 06:57 AM
Parlor Favors
Rose-Petal
Such a popular plant,
one leaf of yours
is instant amazement.
What a thorn to choose.
Rose-madder, there's older iris
what shews worlds between petals.
Outre veins.
Soil, levels of Earth,
the candle in the twilit park,
a structure in a void,
idol of strange music on an altar.
In the bottom right corner
oxblood of you blears
the phantoms.
Something true remarks patterns,
what entity initiates without cause.
Stem lain with pink stain across the page.
Open on a leaf of the Lotus-Born.
He sits holding rose in palm as he stands
fully-formed eight year old.
The soiled veil thin as tissue
soaked in fume. Rosebud ignites
its timeless growth.
A comet, quivering
as a theremin, imitates tenuous
grey films. Fabric-shaking footage.
Much cloven talk of opening doors.
Salvation is a box of mixtapes,
an eight-leafed clover glued on the inside lid.
That photograph,
the pareidolic blob oversighted,
your form at your right bled-through,
running horizontal to fire, blood
of the earth,
clearing a hypnagogic dusk.
Now,
a blur of night clear as rage,
even the wallflowers are dazzling,
there's much in ritual that needs aim
amongst the luxurious.
Let them look.
Let them see.
Let sight be all they take away.
Precious memory.
Unapotheosis
Expect no party favors, no easy
answers, the question is null,
the vehicle naught.
Simplicity ends begun.
Clear.
Imagine a ship of certainty
circling one realm that matters,
a sea of banality whistling in the idea
that was once space. Once and always.
Timeless.
And what is that shape so defined,
resonating . . .
Points of energy set up shop in realms,
emblem with sigil of It's own domain.
Star-threading thelemite (the foil immanent in the form),
these worlds of separate Reason, invisible beyond blind,
where clash is no concept, strongly a demon,
alien, heroic and decadent villain,
one among others, as manifest destiny as man.
Cutting cords of World Logic, cults raise
demons to inoculate this Code.
Infect the Mind with new language,
titillate visions, turn table-tappers to stone,
finding Nothing: the word to explain no-other.
Minds don't bend, dividuate. Find angles in corners,
dissonant music passing for logic in dreams,
it doesn't mean that's what it means.
Dreams—the obvious thing, a mere way of this world
to design a portal. What passes for us for sense.
Obvious, a ladder, to reach a higher level of the same.
Allah-Jehovah, emblem of this Earthenverse,
that Innovator Jove. Forget the scheme of Demiurge
as another shift of shape.
Every cell a reproduction, every Choronzon the same.
Blast the very poem, rooted as it is.
Toss the script, burn. It's earthwares are marked in twelve.
A mere revolved foil.
Go beyond the trick, accepting no beyond.
Rub out the word. Cross out the I.
A blasted tree blasting towers.
Shameless. Irreverent.
Repetitive and obnoxious,
the World
is a kikel of love,
stuck,
death is
for
real.
Rose-Petal
Such a popular plant,
one leaf of yours
is instant amazement.
What a thorn to choose.
Rose-madder, there's older iris
what shews worlds between petals.
Outre veins.
Soil, levels of Earth,
the candle in the twilit park,
a structure in a void,
idol of strange music on an altar.
In the bottom right corner
oxblood of you blears
the phantoms.
Something true remarks patterns,
what entity initiates without cause.
Stem lain with pink stain across the page.
Open on a leaf of the Lotus-Born.
He sits holding rose in palm as he stands
fully-formed eight year old.
The soiled veil thin as tissue
soaked in fume. Rosebud ignites
its timeless growth.
A comet, quivering
as a theremin, imitates tenuous
grey films. Fabric-shaking footage.
Much cloven talk of opening doors.
Salvation is a box of mixtapes,
an eight-leafed clover glued on the inside lid.
That photograph,
the pareidolic blob oversighted,
your form at your right bled-through,
running horizontal to fire, blood
of the earth,
clearing a hypnagogic dusk.
Now,
a blur of night clear as rage,
even the wallflowers are dazzling,
there's much in ritual that needs aim
amongst the luxurious.
Let them look.
Let them see.
Let sight be all they take away.
Precious memory.
Unapotheosis
Expect no party favors, no easy
answers, the question is null,
the vehicle naught.
Simplicity ends begun.
Clear.
Imagine a ship of certainty
circling one realm that matters,
a sea of banality whistling in the idea
that was once space. Once and always.
Timeless.
And what is that shape so defined,
resonating . . .
Points of energy set up shop in realms,
emblem with sigil of It's own domain.
Star-threading thelemite (the foil immanent in the form),
these worlds of separate Reason, invisible beyond blind,
where clash is no concept, strongly a demon,
alien, heroic and decadent villain,
one among others, as manifest destiny as man.
Cutting cords of World Logic, cults raise
demons to inoculate this Code.
Infect the Mind with new language,
titillate visions, turn table-tappers to stone,
finding Nothing: the word to explain no-other.
Minds don't bend, dividuate. Find angles in corners,
dissonant music passing for logic in dreams,
it doesn't mean that's what it means.
Dreams—the obvious thing, a mere way of this world
to design a portal. What passes for us for sense.
Obvious, a ladder, to reach a higher level of the same.
Allah-Jehovah, emblem of this Earthenverse,
that Innovator Jove. Forget the scheme of Demiurge
as another shift of shape.
Every cell a reproduction, every Choronzon the same.
Blast the very poem, rooted as it is.
Toss the script, burn. It's earthwares are marked in twelve.
A mere revolved foil.
Go beyond the trick, accepting no beyond.
Rub out the word. Cross out the I.
A blasted tree blasting towers.
Shameless. Irreverent.
Repetitive and obnoxious,
the World
is a kikel of love,
stuck,
death is
for
real.
