A Formula

Distracted self, a slave with nothing left
to carry sustenance, no axis bold
to travel, hacked as I am. Deluded project
whose watchword fears not finishing,
fragments suppose a heaven and earth summation.
Happy Book wheel threw a bearing out.
Through a bearing out, omphalos born.
I shall be by my own axe, axis mundi,
things be stacked up a pillar, energy of age.

Get thee behind me, substance!

Light in a vacuum as I climb atop a giant barred owl
and gurgle word beetles in black woods, chatter 
scripted fancy in entropy like ice melting
in a cold room, my damp basement youth
spent tracking goatle wizarps, caressing 
a candlelit Lilith lass on a bunkbed, 
chased from astral sleep. But these are days
of calm poesy, Fascinta arises at last 
from Dr Heckling to Mr Unhidden. 

Labraham Saberella
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