Blissfully blinded by the loping of Pan
twister of the cankerous root and
evoker of too-steady loins -
Come up shrieking, angels and devils of light!
The path is illumined by the lasting spheres
of kindled vision and apotheosis -
The ores of hell flow in my tangled veins.
Who cares for the scorched wing
or the well-trimmed ego?
Burst forth both laughing and weeping
and the bedrock of Far Arden
will crack beneath your tread.

-To awake from the dream is to stride in glorious awareness through the landscape of waking nightmare. Sweet wakefulness, torment and progenitor! The eyes that never flutter will be perpetually speared on burning iron rods.-




Copyright Scott J. Couturier 2014