TIME THE FEVER WILL SHOW
Writing, I depart. I do not need to die
To keep from living.
"Come into the garden, Naude,
For the black bird of night
Who are you meeting tired of sleep
Without walking up the night-passage?
horror house Chinese captain
"ussive irable ing."
"IF EVER EVIL ANGEL"*
Terrorists? They're like babies.
First you get recognition response.
Then you get 'em talking.
Never give 'em exactly what they want.
Never give 'em nothing now.
"Fucking makes me horny.
Come suck mommy's dick?"
U.S. out of North America.
The dread "Lamb's" Priestess' preying asp
Sucks, her gagged leg-irons drawl.
A horn`ed Chaos busts its ring.
When scald Erinyes see Him off
Crimson faced we mimic Sin.
How do you come by a name so small?
What soil to clean our collars in.
Murdered from a hole the planet
Moon hangs its stump unhooded,
Til tumbrel sea it braided urge
Floods drear gallows bloodless.
Then shall sealed tombs open.
Trumpets raw renew. Dire transgression
Not throat its consequence?
Filched silver shut the Evil Eye.
Cold Souls an unchilled fire spew.
Necrologue. Sade left us a list
Of things he thought he'd do
If they ever let him out of prison.
Or gave him one of his own.
Hard corpse. Losers.
Battery acid. Unnatural
Forms of decay. Accuse
The sea of what far
Shores are for. Spurn
In councils heated by delay.
* Lord Byron.
UNTIL TALL TRUMPETS TELL
ISN'T IT ALSO TRUE THAT ANY INSTANCES
OF WRITING WE HAVE
From the Spirit-World are totally illegible?
That Doctor John Dee
Solicited signatures from the dead Ceasar
And from Abelard?
Terrible indeed is the waking scheme.
It is a mistake to imagine Thought
At still a more fatal remove in Writing
Even occurs among the living. . .
Rats and cockroaches finally lounge
On red velvet wearing crowns.
Asses worship Holy wars,
Better our worlds
Of towns with singing.
"I don't know what happened.
She disappeared suddenly,
Now she can't count. . ." Crying
Like a Sigh in Signs.
But what man doesn't swing lighted lamps out
Or fall asleep in the shape of a corpse?
And I drank spiritual water in Germany,
Saw animals famous in legend and dream. . .
MURDER MADE THE
PAGE OF THE JOURNAL
"No!" he cried,
Uselessly pounding his pale and
Against the ever damp stones
of the venerable,
If decaying House of Heap.
"I can no longer tolerate the weight of this
sad philospher's head,
Bloated as mutton, fat and heavy
and hunched like a moon
Carnivorous fish devour as it hangs
too close to the sea!"
"People said I was crazy. People
said I was high.
No doubt they were correct.
I drank like a fish?
Wrong! The chemical composition
of water permits
fish to separate oxygen
Out from hydrogen, breathe under-
water, and live!
I split water entirely off from alcohol
to produce Ether,
And breathed myself to death!"
Some ghosts are nothing but a cold
spot on the floor. Others,
The 10,000 year old relics of insane
dead Egyptian Kings
Whose investigations into the Occult
won for them perfect vision
Beyond the grave. "The words The
and And. . ."