For thou art I, and I am thou; thy name is mine,
And mine is thine; for that I am thy likeness
. –Hermes Trismegistus
Stab ink-blot spaces, honey pots,
hungering to mimic fibs, carve
faux jade fences, corral the animal
lie of liberty, life.
Imposter on daily rounds wobbles
in headspace sounds like flushing
voices down a drain and
pounding monsoon rain,
paycheck a pupa hatching.
Turn a blue face to chessboard
sun, an asphodel in itsy breeze,
glassine skies, a whiff
of unicorn dung, that horny
power, pointed seizure.
Want more mercury? Sell people
short on sulfur details. Such cryptic
chunks survive on salt,
things like Pomander, naming—
Rompusbolly Gapes, Triloom
Shackus, Minzappery Flamwich,
Konler Chars, Quntember
Unrallah, Dimserrily Hoetip,
Vermed Wonter, Pitjay Skimhaz,
Poo smells sweet. Too much
wine again, insides an enormous
grape cluster. Must sleep,
must not clock look,
anxiety means thinking.
Fire the alembic again.
Ditherlegged Orfcadger, a
spinterless omfowle in quakus,
squallumping down Sifferycoo Lane
for a terrico minflaster gob.
Self-anger for being soft, bending
all whims to get along, changing
tunes for happy suits of, of,
I am derived to newly rise:
Goptag Shleewinker, Vernimus
Oblang, Hunbobber Pabes, Derwell
Zidner, Lomnick Itsawitz, Colfot
Solbarg, Ponmolentius Unker.
Living a lie don’t get you nowhere
but twisted up faces hatcheted
with your name seem to mirror you
in a fog, spelling out how wrong
you are about love.
Plastic goat mask on bookcase end
pulled away by an unknown hand,
dust silhouette left behind.
Laid up in a burl wood trunk,
life’s panoply had shrunk
to rusty medals, ration tins,
a gushing to begin again,
the ark of gnosis was thus sunk.
I dreamed I wrote an Ialdabaoth
Bible into hopeless backflow,
abstract sluice. Mid-river,
character is a badly done role
perfected in drowning.
My hand extended to god-serious
success is beyond utter fantasy failure.
Walk the ridgeline and prevail
by seeing further. Wait, it’s gone.