So:
What if I told you
That the blind
Might sense more
Than the sharpest
Eyes of Eagles?
The deaf more
Than the keenest
Ear – Infinite Angels
Toppling
From their pins – dropping like
A cacophony of Wings and Eyes?
Serpent-wreathed bulls more
Animate than animal:
Would you believe?
Me: told as I am (more)
As we are,
Never-the-Less
Make lies into truth
And Truth into Lies.
Hence, twixt, thus
Play host:
Ghost-with-the most –
Lord of Strangers
For flesh is
Wyrm-ridden and
Seething
I: a strait-jacketing inside,
A ward of madness;
Listen to howling griefsong
Psyche cries there for Eros –
Blót, blood poured out,
Swelling, blossoming – a blooming rose
Iron-thorn sacrifice
Bark makes a door
Of skin.
Host-lord
Ever between (inter) betwixt
Faces
Masked, hatted, hooded
So the sibilant-prophet
Reveals via concealment:
Mouth of Ash
Roarer
Hanged-jaw juddering
In freezing, starry silence
Deepest night and richest
Twilight
Shapeshifting thief of always –
Matter’s of Matrix – ever-fugitive
And fork-tongued:
Sing of rivers rising
Lame
From their beds
Asleep no more;
They never-were
The doubled, tripled ones
Pouring forth
From the Mount of Venus
Mother i’ the Mountain
Pads with feline grace
Bloody muzzle, gleaming teeth
Gold-gleam brewing
Honey of ancestral bees
The grave drones
Of kosmic sporulation
I cannot tell you of
One single thing
But the more
Such as I ken
So must I lie –
Would you know yet more?
