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
