Rebis

Rebis

Take this crown

no bigger than a bread

bowl.  Take this sword 

forged deep in the bowels

of negative space. Turn 

your business

inward.  Reflect on your 

better half, the bruises 

of your bitter wings, the simple 

fact that you're not the same

nobody you used to be.  Unwrap

the bandages & see the woman

inside the man in the lapis breast-

plate as the ladyfaced snakes

coil still closer to the heart

of precious stone.  Tadasana

astride the demon's back,

a foot on each black throat.

Asunder & ununderstood

two halves make a whole 

lot of noise.

 

Spirit Ghost

Ghostfeathers hung in the air

after the pair of them were

pentacled to the unruly

tree; nowhere to go but up

jump the devil & the joucular

imp.  Enter the worm

like you’re walking into

the maw of the sun licking

the tip for to scrawl

the names of the kings

in mauve on the new walls

of the old kingdom in the

days of spirits
in the sky which had yet
to fall & the skalds who
had yet to be
tossed from their towers.
The moment hangs there
forever, precarious
on its lone stone pillar,
& then it's exit through
the celestial
elevator, its sudden
plunge a punch
in the gut for those of us
who thought we were
staying for dinner. 

a lash & alas

a lash & alas

I'll scourge your
back if you'll
scourge mine.  When we
get to the point, it means
pointing toes in opposite 
awkward directions 
with no destination
in mind.  We leave
no stone unturned
once we're more 
than a stone's throw
from the 
nearest city 
center. We're here
even when 
we're nothing but
blistering soles,
in the ink of plants--
a lash & alas
a letting of flesh 
& rending of mind.
If you want this thing
done right, don't do it
at all.  Continue 
until the wrist gives 
way, take a knee 
& pray to something 
new, something 
you didn't see coming.    

O What a Shame

5 tears in the 5

keyholes of the heart.

Wheat that grew

from the crown

of thorns.  This is

the blood of my

brow, for that of

my heart is poison;

arrows from crenellations;

the eels that swim up the spine

of the caduceus.

Black cloud white cloud

rain down rays on
merchant & clergyman alike.
To each ordained
estate, the sacred duty
of struggling toward the
dungheap's top. A sheaf of wheat
becomes an arrow.  The soil
more fertile, its flowering
most foul.

A Scepter, a Sword, a Scourge

A Scepter. A Sword. A Scourge.

With an open
eye, scope the beasts that 
fly.  With a closed fist, greet
the creeping

things.  A crown
is a sort of horns when worn
by your sworn enemy.  Take
up sword, 

shape the clay, walk the burning
embers to prove your worth.
A serpent is a form
of scepter when gripped by your 

sworn enemy.  Asleep it is a 
scourge that sways 
in the bitter wind.  Spied 
by a flying thing, 

your foot held fast to clay, 
a name amasses in the waters
of the mind & your enemies
a flame.

A right line, crooked 
& reflexed spells the simple 
figure of your enemy:
the sacred covenant.  
This is how it shall be discovered.    

 

Azoth

1.

Black ray of calcination
splits in two.
Dire crow of thought
squeezed through
the fontanel.
Mud sprouts
from your eyes.

2.

Kissing the ear
of the ground.
The flame begs
the sun.  The shadow
casts the man.
Rise up full
of hot air.

3.

One then two,
laughing at
the crow in the ground.
Bright coals
for eyes all I see
does not please
go.

4.

Wingéd crown,
stand tall.  Wasted
stand down, gaze up
at angels
or aliens.  Strike
the balance,
hold tight to borrowed robes.

5.

Begins
as juice, then rots
into essence.
Out of
this darkness, a filmy
residue, a
firmness of resolve.

6.

An alembic boiled from a father's
blood.  A tail
chased, then fed to the
flame.  Sublimate our planet
gradually.  Point
forward, await the next
phase.

7.

Golden
sunbeam, cold
as a stone.  Clockwise
we might
plant seeds we'll never live
to see through to harvest. Now we've a second
body.  A higher light.

Moratorium

Hail & well

met, my fellow 

traveller, after so long 

on this winding 

road so far from

home. When last we

parted, we proclaimed 

the sky could not

possibly grow

darker, yet here we 

sit, struggling

along the same old 

ruts in different

seasons, new

scourge risen to 

menace our

lands.  Look 

to the dead 

for some solace:

they & their one 

long sentence, begun

at the paps

of the world & 

stretching umbilically

to the final contraction.

Don't think of life

as a test, but instead 

a distraction from 

that final weird of 

knitting beginning 

to end, when death yes

will die & so will

the sky & what remains

is just a longing for

anything at all.