May 18, 2007
Fall
O’ what’s to become of me? Drifting the banks of the fathomless Alcyonian,
The surrounding undergrowth of thorns and muskmelon orchids pressing, piercing the gloom,
Fish heads breaking the permeable deep; gold pupils swivelling in a guard-down-search.
Polarised views in, shadowed by Nereus, hint treats of power amidst a silent ebony tomb,
While the powders and points of conflict loom, with each punt closer to Melpomene’s perch.
Midas dreams lay below the tangled weed, and the spiting lurking Aborigines.
Should I take a fill of stifling air and drown in the dense dark, where light is lost?
Purity of pain’s release, the depths of meditation pre-empts the awe of mad genius!
Apple eaten, the spirit consumed. I am God, and to me they’ll square their past,
But what’s to become of me – A conch shell to be eroded by the shore’s heaving lash?
Under the plimsoll, beyond the reflection, the swirling currents captivate me,
While the hands of the damned paw at the hull, circling like sharks without minds.
And the dead eyes of the locker-dwellers rasp the dry bones of the corpses that lay within.
And from the depths of despair the chided child draws knives, willing what I should find.
Yet the other tenants’ whispers covet my mind with dreamscapes that I can only give-in.
How can I defy their sweet request, to discover and reap man’s scheme?
With every nip of the Eden fruit, I want more to quench my famine.
Hostage to Darwin’s cow glue, the swamp’s seduction swirls my deepest dreams,
And courts like the whale an alien yawp, inhuman, seductive, beautifully sane,
So that the Hades light reaches my soul, and with breath held I fall in to the lure of its call.
In faith I’ve crossed the thin mercurial reflection, naïve of my return.
A tangled egocentric psyche cloys my mind, with ignorant exclusion to all.
Self consumed a myriad of once lost gems explode like magma rain,
And fall to earth in shattering storms of thought, that push me further away.
Immersed with no tide, the imps deride, with hyena laughs, their castaway bastard.
Yet safety is assured in that Alice-mindscape of stretching time, and space, and presence.
Contradiction daubs the distant view: light-black, custard-blue. Rotting to the bone.
Demands of ridiculous skull drilling idioms, schisms fill the void with nonsense sense,
And the silverfish bound through the narrow channels, and stuff Id’s worried home.
Who cares anymore! A cure? Please no Sir. Save it for the poor.
From above, the conscious fights the eternal battle that created me human, true, and rational.
But the hyacinth tugs me deeper into the jar, distorting and deriding with senile task;
And the tenderness of the lake’s caress consumes me with the pain of time’s conscious past,
While the million eyes of the school peer at once, naking my alien mask.
I’m alive, I’m revealed, I am Rama! The messiah. The superman at last!
This pinnacle is so desperately desolate, like the bloody Somme – there’s no God, no travel,
No peace, no up or down or right nor wrong, they’re gone! I’ve drank the hemlock-Styx!
The mirror shattered. The box wide! I’ve discovered the dredged lunacy of Lerna’s gravel,
And found the spring of ecstatic insanity, and uncovered nothing but the mammal.
How dark it has become. Below the lilies that feed the flies on the light side of the sun.
And so I understand in the clearest of mind that I can not return to that place!
Nor stay in this drowning consuming lake with questioners that have no face.
Remorseful ideals that burble through the column now fill my mind with hate,
So, in sane clarity I take these pills and wait for the lake’s Hades escort.
And to the world I say, ‘see you soon’ just in case, as I sink silently toward my maker’s arms.
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