It was the will of the stitch of light to hem the balance of the night to the wind tweed. The decorum of the room made me ill, gentrified with cornsilk and spider twill.

Sleep was inchoate, an incoherent plate of shy wine at the cornersky, serialized into a network in a vain attempt to transmit dreams for several hours into a cupola of eternity.

Eternity toppled and took the house into black flames. It erected itself whenever the moon was full.  One evening under the shiny lawns of a treasured god, blessings fell like fruit from clouds that were squandered in ways you would never see again. Of most profound magnitude, they were completely blank when pressed to the lips, rubbed to the thighs, devoid of the essence that give dream to life and life to fantasy.

Everytime I invite you I become more sentient

I  see the road that passes along the coast
morphing at a very high rate.
Then earth bursts into flame,
flawed, compromised
places unseen : become seen.

I invent you into the cracked casket of a little bird of the Nile, whose blue melting crest seeped through the earth and abraded the dawn with her wounds on the vine. She has taught us how to hold the key to the honeycomb of a grass of rain. She has taught us how to sow the seeds of a presence that could not be ploughed again. She made us wonder until wonder became a golden glyph to be read by deathlight.

Through the wounds of desire she swam for her life, flew in the direction of the miserable quartered garden and watched in fear from above as the clover of woe beseeched the soil and devoured her irridescent longings. Strained by deepening agapements, she fled the design of the horizon only to be brought down to the level of the abyss,where she rose up the Kundalini roots and veins through the Terra, ossified and transmuted by other worldly compositions.

A substrata of microbes rise from the beautiful beast ordained by darkness and her supernatural rays.

To be held to the orbital field of abstract ritual, drifting in a whorl of phallic interstices, seditious from the outset, a masculine energy summoned from the Pleiades!

Alcyone, my bearer of vastitude, my minder of sun and negated strategems;
Sterope, my antiphony of a dreamt civilisation, a gushing floodgate of my descendent Morning Star;
Merope and Maia, feigning imperitives over my glimmering burnt forages;
Electra, my beautiful puff of ruin, my antipode, my orison;
My sting of divinity in the malevolence of demons.

I have entered into your starfields with the waking birds and the sleepwalking mantas where the sun is medicinal: Obscured by opiates it drapes dharma like an aerial cipher reducing germination to all the struggles of swarming charged voltages.

This spirit lined vestibule was the life beyond the finches, the very beginning of a gathering vacuum and it’s tumultuous Bardo.

In its primeval intent, the world is just a collapsing hallucinogen in a gravitational mirage where there are no measurable leakages of being in proportion to arcane distortions.

I have been willed into the mist but there are no means by which the air can speak. No tendencies by which the white night can decipher the hieroglyphs that lie dead in me; Ancient codes flowing back from Mediteraneans fill the endocrines that spark signals to my cortex. The crack in the darkness becomes the slender thread of time. I sit vigil: I am keeping watch with a lantern lit by phosphorous human bones, its light rolling between the circle of the meadows and illuminatating Diana’s manifestation there in the hornet’s nest.

She is beautiful, witness and negation to the degenerative black light of ruthlessness. Without difficulty, she has entered into being and I am teetering madly beneath her condensations. 

I am in an unhealthy place, this path of divinity, this long winding serpent sculpted from delicate hide of some song to myself...