VIVAT NEBULAE!
(some illuminati drug'd me
through the dredges
of yr tawdry scaffolding [always building,
always]
where you toiled,
painting an Umbra of our sacred willow
[O, wilting willow, how i endeavour
to paint you prettier!;]
and you were adorned in gunmetal sequins,
still sequestered to the Antumbra,
still engulfed in Light,
and i watched from the Penumbra,
still singing baphomet's dirges, [ceaselessly]
yet you heard a fervent reverie in these specific knives;
these songs too sharp to roll from Virgin tongue,
and this reverie manifested as You, as Us;
and maybe it was folie à deux
but i began to paint, too)
Breakers at my heels;
licking the cusp of our cocoon,
(Penumbra, specifically.)
with their frothy tongues.
It's baphomet out at sea;
siphoning disdain from distant leagues;
i purged him from my innards when i wrote this poem;
and even before when we painted the Umbra,
and set ourselves in the shade of our willow,
(no longer wilting)
i -we am -are
content in this cloud.
so take your Behold! a pale horse elsewhere-
Cooper's gospel is masochistic vomit;
i've got my grace in a pair of eyes, two rows of teeth
it came to me in a lightning bolt;
this Eternity churns Electric
THIS IS ME COMPLETED:
folie à deux dans l'Antumbra;
Amour fou est le seulement amour
