Friday, July 17, 2015

Ode to the Makers

Ode to the Makers

O you beautiful transmigrants!
Sewn to words like a deleterious cloth.
A wild, swaying passion seizes the mind
and the pen scribbles rampant.

O you beautiful transmigrants!
Effigies of former ages cast
in quantum flesh.
Your busts will loom o'er
the atom-blasted waste.

O you beautiful transmigrants!
Flare in worship sufficient
to sunder and remake the soul.
Dark chasms are yours,
and the inhabitants therein.

O sweet poetry! The curving rhyme
laps up the tail's singularity
and all is distraught
buffeted by the winds of Apollo.

O sweet suit of skin
a humming carapace of molecules
to execute animacy.
The act of every hand
and the word of every tongue
are preserved in the poet's eye.

O darling transmigrants!
The madmen raving at anthropomorphic marble
the magician hot with stave and will
the wail of Grecian harps
regurgitating up the throat of time.

Great Pan calls, and I must answer.

O you beautiful transmigrants,
Drunk on strange wine
and fed on queer dishes
gorged on the weird milk
of the Muse –

O darling transmigrants!
Let thy flow be my pulse.

Saturday, July 4, 2015

Old Man, recede into your shell
and stopper up that bastion well.
Cram your ears with lumps of dirt
and hide from all that serves to hurt.
Hear not the scream of wind and rain
nor heed the rising swell of pain
that overtakes all living things
(tho Change is what this agony brings).

The guard, the day, the aeon absurd
will alter as surely as the Word!