Imbibition of the Stone


One must imbibe if only
to be polite, so
imbibe I shall, casting off
my inhibitions
& slathering my soft,
pale chest with
the gelatinous proteins
of mine allies.  O
how my shriveled wings
smolder.  Flesh of
my flesh of sulphur,
five parts of my body,
my blood of mercury,
revolved in the heat
of the wheel of nature
for a month, passing over
putrefaction, mouthing
the ruling words
to the silence
of the empty room lit
only by the embers
of cherubim.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Philosophical Infant

Nourishment is like to like, children of goats & wolves & the world can feed the mewling babe, subsisting together in one form...