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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 

Copyright © Candide Diderot

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