Monday, January 27, 2014

Riddle Hymn and Riddle Herm, For the Middle Way is Closing...

Les pantalons sont à venir 
pour les plantes tandis 
que les perles sont drapage 
de la noirceur alors 
que le témoin des marguerites 
se déplace tout vers 
un groupe de statues 
à l'ombre d'une déesse 
de fusion si brillante afin 
feuillus si complètement 
couler leurs pieds invisibles 
pour le verre transparent 
le torse de chevalier qui fumée 
avec de l'or pourrait 
dire son propre nom comme 
un paria de la valeur du harnais 
qui les clients adorent 
plus que les assiettes 
qu'ils détiennent 
et qui les détiennent 
respectivement. Il ya des bougies 
rouges diriger toute conscience 
de la célébration.

in Qumran we touch our cactus tusk selves in abandom
make way for the goddes(s) of hey
for the(y) come
from a snake-like PAN-KING..

the adobe' muskrat caterpillar is swiftly chewing
as it peers over the tickertape of usury
which is the grapevine
of our finest ages.

A drunkenness of things
is easily translated into every language
and yet still so
poorly understood.

The troll sings to the okra,
and the okra wages dodge
upon the yelling
care all night
knot's victim
chapter one

as Kthontic

bleak but positive
even smelling gasoline on the air
romances poison
its nile
of black rubber mummies
in memory's mommy sleep-pons

the red slide-rule
is wrapped in velvet
the pillars are shorn before the temple of the eye
and the great black cricket of petroleum
is NERO the blue
rendered in ambiguous
obsidian fiddles.


This is my next painting.
In all innocence I captured its phrase
from the great river, along with all the old heads of gods,
their phone-numbers,
their silent paveries,
and trilent savories.

tell a faun to whisper.
to a faun to know.
tell a faun to prosper.
tell a faun to grow.

Imagine one massive red column,
Diogenes wearing the Marsyasian skin
of Oedipus, and Socrates' head
as a monstrous ocarina
of gold
filled with snakes
which vomit coins of frozen blood.

or flat saucer uniting blanknesses.

There is a little beauty,
and much beauty, Rodino,
your Pea-pong turns away in vinyl boredoms:

place place


thigh boots


the Banderole of the David:


There is a chicken dancing atop the bulbous topiary,
and instead of a head
there is a little flagpole
and a flag
a black flag
with a white sun.

Every image
is  a cape,
and every cape
a caper.

The eye of mind will witness
a checkered cleaving
near the pillar 
of leaving.

Its stain is lean
and hungry.

Be still my weary MOLERUNGAN
for my homunculus has become woolied..

In the seventh month of 1986
a snake moved out into the clearing,
and there it bared its white vulva
to the eternal forking
of the dreaming skies.

Who has called for red candle, here?

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Irrony Observes The Earthing.