The Plural Sky and the Temptation of Its Mirrored Eyes

I melt into the plural sky its rippling tableaus of tomorrow underneath open light waves see-saws the labyrinth like Delphi tendrils crossing channels all the changing faces played automatic, embedded in misty consort with Hyde-Lees and Yeats love-crushed oracles ghostwriting the present poésie Rimbaud’s Lettres du Voyant appear of painful yesterday’s tempestuous guise drawn into them I unfold like oragami unmoving lips, eyes that smile like a seer silent strings speak strange tongues twist forming ascension ladders seen in the Jacob flames of draft blown shadows depth found in worm holes of shading colours blooming bullion truths melting bars eclipsing parolees unwholly spectral, the damned walk through stores of Freedom now, I am, shifting sands in time with Evermore strewn I am, split particles in vortex tunnels fallen onto the wings of his black crows fast flocking omens calling in the mysterious through clouds threaded like bat wings morphing with haste they move luminescent, a backwoods poet hears their evocative echolocations, they are dreidels the smallest spinning gambles, and off their backs I now slip like fine satin thread wrapped around thimble prepping passage through open eye of needle, then, on the other side of ectoplasm, there, as if in scrying mirror, I hear, you'll know me when you look me in your eyes without flinching, you'll see me clearly, I am seen for who you truly are, that ever present stranger - I am - sown like a seed into the haunting violet presence swimming in the open hands of sapphire-robed Mundi Spiritus in that 1's piercing eyes, you are like an echo, witnessed deep beneath his electric waves the spectre is thrice seen, there true ghost in the machine that deus ex machina presents clapping, as if this would call forth some measure of obedience to be sucked up in congratulatory cylindrical cigar inhaled into its lungs and expelled, he perceives me, takes me as, I am - I am, antiquated like Edison’s phonograph wound up I am played, I listen to the Mandylion of Edessa watch his tears turn to diamonds the silohuette fades into moth eaten cloth, now Thoth is stirring storms in teacups in the other ornery world, prophetic thunder cups the shrouded tomes of victory, live-wired vaulted Lightening crackles curtain clouds parting as if drawn on some vaudville stage, the cracks split all walls portentous glowing words fall into emerald tablets held between fingers, now swallowed ayahuasca capsules meant to take all pain away, windows open contemporarily reflecting the all-seeing eyes of wisened Horus flying merkabah to royal court of the curious Bastet surrounded by her many temptations of dissatisfaction, the eyes of watchful wings flutter their guarding presence like bells peeling a chorus heard crescendo of resounding trumpets, legions of strange beings hover in their keeps black irises oscillating Munch mouthed mute watchers seated in Ezekiel Wheels opening minds like canned worms prying them apart with their sharp taloned thoughts placing them on hooks for feeding bigger things, with their fearsome wings like incisors they stroke brains with electric pulses drumming tattoos burnt into beating hypnotised hearts, a tingling sensation in the ears arrives, hear the swell in their savage Salvation tamborines, there are loaves of bread to be multiplied to feed the newly branded fish weighed as murky mangrove green scales, they are not deep ocean borne, they've been locked in their oily sardine cans too long now released into the wild of it all, they consume the haunting trials of the lost tribes found tarred and feathered in homeless shelters contemplating unalive, call it Dantes Walk, now they shelter in the open lairs of 6 winged Seraphim who strike heavy hammers just for them holding jaded scales of justice for the newly baptised, they royally confer with lesser deported lost ancient souls quaking like poets in their mortal vessels for new assignments, the 6 winged now turn towards me commanding I attend them, I place my hand on theirs rushing rapturous velvet strokes o'er their quills the ink forms words in blood darkly lit I am a child seeking Aslan in a Judah’s roar, freedom of choice in a candy store not easily bought here, there is no spurious in this place - of course, I am corrupted, just as every man, holy innocent, oblivious to the greater scheme of things, ignorant I am, of the portent of such artificial tongues cloaked now in reverent bejewelled mires “things fall apart, the centre cannot hold”, through Yeats mouth, It chants, echoes all around, they envelop me and seal me read like I am waxing moon to Sun’s folded edge, I am swiftly deciphered a message delivered like a handwritten note I am drawn along in their sketches my soul melts into them I float without extent like ... I am - I am - not kept in a reed woven crypt like an illegitimate Moses, I am poetic, wholly legitimate, I roll my stone across the doorway past the guards I glide past where once was I a long time ago, in my prison kept, I rise again into the night I walk upon the See of Nazareth like I am, I am floating sails upon the Nile above the belly of the Leviathon I was in my own time crucified in a dark place, swallowed up, I too heard those other voices that screamed, this too shall pass, I am St Elmos fire before an Earthquake I am lit, like that, I am a walking torch barefoot unyolked unbroken heart as soft as Kashmir upon the tides of Tibet, through Xanadu caves I journey, then, like Everest, a mountain journeys to me - It to me, that I am I am, collects me in Its alms, I move into I am like a river rushing I won’t be stopped; the damned walls broken, the weakness crushed, I found God, that grand musician maestro – so now what? I am Golden Dawned Nemo like an ardent groupie smoking peace pipe I escape with Him and His million bright ambassadors of Morning Candide Diderot ‘24