the hollow point at the center of every atom
is cracked and strung on Indra's net, not pearls but husks of
being. A graveyard garden suspended throughout time,
refracting only dully an alien light whose
fount, Sun beyond Sun of hawk and disk, transmits our
dreams of writhing murk, gordian knots aborted and
birthed, λόγος of snakes' desiring: XI and qoph.
I fear that I have been devoured by a Truth while
apprehending astral vistas far afield. Tunnels
crack the face of God and increase psychedelic yield.
Explosions and modus ponens, axioms of ShT.
Thought-storms feed pelagic
in-betweens, and abstraction
goes not up but down, to the weirdened loam of being.
And Lucifer opens
up the veins of the world to
destroy the dependence. Vishuddhi theorems – ergo:
Forms bleed alive! but deadViva Geburah!
the formless fornicate
in the back of the Head
[First published in the Project NONA poetry chapbook entitled Parts of a Feather.]