Wednesday, January 20, 2016

The Films of William Blake


A avalanche of thoughts
Launched me into an emotional crevasse
I abandoned the flea-swept countryside
For the incunabula of urban life
A spell of longevity
Between death scenes
The Lambent Castle
The ear-built arch
Simple Music
I thought the earth itself
Blake's caverns were flesh
Like Urizen, like Adam
Like the Ancient of Days
Engravings of bulbous intestines
In biological encyclopedias
Pendulum over the children's pillow
Heads walk past bowed to consensus

William Blake saw the boy manacled to a log
And would not abide it
His cinematic press was rolling nearby
Hercules House
A song of Los the Celtic Poetics
Of the technicolor grave
Angels and spirits crowd into every now
Every room in Newton's facade
Satan scrapes the sky

Nature outside a projection of Nature within
The dungeon is a furnace for the comfort
Of those who live in the mansion above
Those who suffer poverty enhance 
The satisfaction due success

The Sneerer
Spead venom that Blake was mad
The stool-face stool-pigeon
The Android Boron smears to tattlers
Who read aloud to empty rooms
Complex Machiavelli of cloak and dagger
The sun wagered the wind which could compel
the Wayfarer to remove his cloak
Boron the dagger held
To one's posterior position
Those who lack holiness stop at nothing
Stop at Nothingness
They thought they were big fish
Whereupon the pond dried away
gasping piranha flapping tails 
To eject the weaker fish of perception

No one's left alive alive-o
Who will buy my poems to eat?
Tricks ain't walkin' no more
Umber of the somber endowment

Beings are trajectories
of the Eternal
All movements are still there
Frozen geysers on Saturnian moons
Some arc toward the dark
Some steer toward a molten pool 
Of Light

The hermaphrodite priest
Spirits amble through 
the kitchen bedroom
The Ghost of a Flea
Climbs the stairs
The Ancient of Days
Like a fan-light over
An expanded doorway 

The Ancients have come by
To kiss your bell rope
An iconography of demonology
The internal Pantheon
Fearful and wrathful personae
Limned in dream books 
Made of Copper sheets
Songs of reason and unreason
There are no sins 
But the lack
Of forgiveness 
Of sin

January 2016

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