Inane riffing, mumbling, blathering and spittle

When deep in a mode of Catalepsy

One only seems to furnish

The idea of misanthropic

Whisperings meandering

Across the horizon

Of that unreal graveyard

Inhabited not by listless souls,

But by spirited somnambulists

Wistfully waltzing over the closely cropped grass,

Laughing in fits of fearless frenzy

One usually only experiences

During soul travel with a Sufist

It is here we diverge from our paths

Whether we knew where we were going

Or not, we whip fiendishly ‘round

A meadow of daffodils

Praying to Apollo to race across the sky

To bring the light of day

To this nonsensical sideshow freak

People call Dream.

Catabasis

Leads the hour from one wind

To the next

Beyond the light year of winter

A fretful fall begins

A shrieking baby strikes the cymbal

Before being

Seized

By rigor mortis

Three sparrows see

The melancholy scene

And Leads the soul

Of the departed babe

Back under my pale stream of light made

Under the cover of shade, old,

And decayed.

A fragmented fragrance displaces the mind

Tiresias gawks at his sister’s behind

And perceives the future’s expiration

Under a soft blanket of snow

Thus divined,

Tiresias bends backward, licks his spine

And laments the breasts he once had

Whilst cursed

It was the word that got him

The word of thine

Forgotten in mine

And in mind

A minute detail that sends a sentence

Drifting aloft exhaled rivulets before finding solace

Underneath a sheepskin rug.

A tug

Evanescence eludes me

As does Death’s laugh so fickle

He who streamlined the coward

Sends t h e man past the garden of hours

A bower built in secret

Creates tallow spires extending b e y o n d

The mystifying sky in the eye of an egret

Tiresias foretold to have cataracts in old age, gone

I s the essence of Set

Thrower of excrement, a holy thing

Left to be smitten by shining light

Emanating from the gold teeth of dead men

One wishes Set could be here t o see

This eternal skyscape reflected in two little orbs

Inside the head of an egret

Perhaps then he could absorb

The time honoured

Presence shone Through the prism

Of yore.

Of what?

Through the prismatic lens laying in wait for shallow graves to blink twice while whistling at feminine wraiths passing slyly by with coy smiles as the creeping coward locks the shutter doors while simultaneously driving a cement truck over the spines of decapitated fauna that were thrown into some mass grave and burned over a pile of excrement a donation from Set a predilection of future events sewn into separate holes.

Oh.