VII.
And just as the portal to the Other World begins to close,
I, a man with great feeling for the cormorant,
stumble through into "fusions of wonder".
Shifting this angular man into one so Sky,
learning the feeling of rising thermals beneath
the wingspan gift and endless Other World to explore.
Man become bird, and bird become man: these two
shall never meet on the same plane of existence.
Cormorant, she has become a Colchian maiden,
all white like the clouds and with deep space hair.
Tall like the sun and lithe like the python-by-the-river.
If she were to dance and hiss I would not be surprised.
And I, I have become an erne, sea eagle.
My man-heart has been replaced with one so Bold and Sky,
and I feel the draw to the ocean, strong like Boreas in sorrow.
"So, you have followed me here." says the cormorant-now-maiden.
"Well then, you shall be my companion on this journey,
and together we will free my people."
No man-words have I, and so I give a great eagle cry
of joy, and she allows me to alight on her wrist.
Journeying into the depths of the Other World, we set off,
her people to save.
VIII.
A.
The she-wasp builds her honeycomb cells
while I immortalize her with captured light.
This shutterbug has fallen in love with her
black-and-yellow carapace, stung to the heart
with child-like fascination and admiration.
B.
Heady, humid evening, and two wasps
embrace under the deck.
The compound eyes see me, but
they are not ashamed of their love.
IX.
Under the influence of rhythmic synthesizer
and painful fever flower,
I slowly make my way into a trance of afternoon.
These songs, a soundtrack for the gnarled trees of an alien world,
where the third sun rises East-South-East. Red-purple sunrise,
and the cold Plutonian wasteland springs into some kind of anti-life.
If I were not drugged with fever flower, if my throat was not inferno,
I would be singing some unheard lyrics to complement it all.
Sitting still, mesmerized and sweating like the sea,
Summer-Fall wind floating in (calm, cool friend)...
my sadness takes the shape of sensual monoliths.
This afternoon is silent save for this synthesizer music
and my fever dream.
X.
Dull ache in my mind,
the pyramids of pain and sharp corners...
I strategize, a warlord of Egyptian shapes,
moving them in formations straight and arrow.
This desert is a restless night.
I wish this futon was a divan, and that She, all songbird
and delicious-soft feathers, would kiss my troubles away.
XI.
In-flight coital madness, wind caress,
a dragon's voice, a dove's heart...
these things are the mating song of Quetzalcoatl.
In the sky, vast currents of air twisting
and rushing over exposed skin, scales, and rainbow plumage.
The cacao maiden presents her offering to Him,
which he eagerly tastes and teases and fills.
Ehecatl is jealous.
XII.
Yearning, the bower quiet,
her presence undeniably missing.
Oak tree feet, stock-still and I wave sadly,
making soft cries of leaf-against-leaf.
Yes, even men can be trees,
even a fool can eventually realize.
The moon shines bright, showing pity
to all the broken-hearted.
XIII.
Give me Pharaoh in chains,
send me that obstinant man,
and let me lash him with reeds.
Machiavelli, where have you gone?
There are many who will bend the already-broken,
and many who will mend their own pleasures.
This world is the Autobahn of kings,
a highway for men who gorge themselves
without thought.
All of them are Thelemic voyagers,
casting spells of Stockholm Syndrome
upon their people.
Let those kings gather their own straw for once.
XIV.
I leave the furnace of licentious thoughts,
and throw myself headlong into the Triste River.
It shakes, it shivers, it almost hurts,
but the rapids end quickly enough.
I pray for a sign, any sign - a friendly bird,
a sunny day amongst this autumn rain,
a caressing breeze - anything.
Anything, just to know
if He still hears me.
My lips still chafe from
the broken cup of the world.
I'd give anything just to receive
the balm of healing, of Heavenly Love.
It is a difficult thing to do,
this doing what is right.
Cobras and vipers are still taut around
me, hissing and biting and madly trying
to keep me in a feverish downward spiral.
I will not go downward any longer,
I will not join in the massive freefall
that prevails. I will use these Solar Sails,
let them billow and sparkle, kissed by the Sun,
and float upwards, gently. Slowly.
And as I ascend, away from the Valley Plain of Chaos,
I will reach out, and try desperately to save, at the least,
one more soul. If I am successful, I will have excelling reason
to rejoice with forever and dance with eternity.
Beware the venom that blinds so sensually.
It seeps so insidiously into the blood stream,
and has the ability to corrupt even the most righteous of men.
It is the strongest poison I have ever seen on this Earth.
XV.
I am a vessel of pain.
The sun shines and warmth
descends upon the land,
and yet I shiver.
Embracing the Euphrates,
delirium tremens catches me,
all vulnerable and eyes tight shut.
Obelisks of desire mock me from afar.
The night shines in colours of skin and fire.
A crowd of acid dwellers chants
to the Grand Obelisk (a familiar song,
sweet as to death).
It rings metallic in my
brain, conjures poison beings
that coo deception.
Running from the river,
I head for the wilderness.
Maybe I'll find Meribah,
and taste the astral water that heals.
The Bird of Paradise, the magic being
of Love, appears to me in the Desert
of Teary Sighs.
"I have these wings for you, my son."
"But those are too great for me. My heart
is much too poor to afford something
so pure and beautiful."
"Then I shall show you
the True Magic of Skyah, and it
will cure you."
My eyes flood with light,
Auroras and Rainbows caressing
dead retinas into action.
My heart races, my ears
have become deafening melody...
all my senses are assaulted with Sky Love Magic.
"I have these wings for you, my son." |
Submission Name: Cormorant Song, Pt. VII-XV
