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The illumination of every poem draws its mysticism from a higher power, say, reaching coitus. –– A self-quote.
God wasn't a critic. Man wrote His grammar. He did not capitalize the letter L's when he uttered, "let there be light!" –– A strange theology; borne from a self-quote.
I am your archaic mythos;
& this vision breaks your earthly veil,
You are undressing before your eyes.
My frail flesh is a tunnel for cleansing,
a creative temple, vibrant vortex virtuoso.
I li[c]k[e] your toes, in Picasso’s pallet; surreal colors
I am primitive tongue and hole,
in the beautiful, vast darkness
Tasting our madness-inbetween-madness;
feasting on curve lines: supple legs,
and other glands, Jimi Hendrix’s excited hairs,
like yours… rhythmic fibers of your womb,
congested with literary mothergods and goddessdads
strokes of a sweating angel – behind me
piercing my humanity and its minutiae:
their perplexing art,
God plagiarizing this tumescent universe
with his own words
tow of your
slips the shadow of
my monstrous self
fertilizing – first my hands,
next on your face, then my mind –
rocking my soul’s depths; a pen
whispering the next climax with your Maker,
his melancholic smile
pinnacle! my bloody spill give birth to me
your laughter is an offspring, this poem,
covered in cornucopian climax.
Mirrored in andronymous blog
Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary. -- Sir Cecil Beaton (1904-1980) English photographer