HORNS OF A DILEMA. (In four parts)
I
TENDER EYES.
As the Ravens come and the Eagles go
I find myself dreaming of Elliot`s Angelo.
And as my thoughts turn Quixoticaly
At that tower from which most men have built their power.
I remember....................
While once in Paris in the fall, a woman stoped me on the street, and begging me to be discreet she led me to a marble hall.
She needed to know in what direction she should seek to find affection and her name she told me was Persephoni.
Cursed to curtsy through the centuries it seemed her lovers had become Just Brothers and had left her when they had grown up, with nothing save a bitter cup. Then they changed her name to Magdallane, in a senceless act of random kindness. While they gathered at the wailing wall, crusading with false psalms of madness against the tower where was let fall the contents of a cannon.
So sad was I and full perplexed to ponder deep dark mysteries of sex.Her lost location did cause me fear by reminding me that night was near. So to my Mary I did confessthat my own poor delving brought me distress and only a lonly confusion. I was caught between old Plato`s cave and my red marxist rave. I had painted haunted words and symbols to cover the illusions of my life. Mare scribblings on a wall that sought to seed the light of day.
A painters pen turned into stippled knife.
We wandered on to Gare`de`Lest for in that direction it was best to rendevous for silent talks with Alice and with Pooh.
So meeting them at 9 o clock we stoped at a cafe. Sipping wetly but unwisely on Bacchus Blood, we hurdled questions of the day untill with yellow yarrow stalks, we discovered we were swiming in the Seine.Wet from a flood of pain we little understood. Like wild willow dogs, timber tied and throw into the water.
We stroked and floated as we swam up to the beach of
Notre Dame and there I hung my cloths to dry upon the tree of strife. And as Jesus hung below his thorns my own Libido was reborn while my eyes toped the waters at the memory of that emotion. Torn from gentle father and offered up to patriarch.
False honer to devotion.False lover to the Matriach.
Quasimodo then rang the bell
That set old sinners free from hell
To start the journey once again,
From Persephoni to Magdalane.
Then at the needle of the Nile
She took my hand and with a smile
She told me of her real name.
It was Lillith of the garden.
I thrust my sword into the ground
For now I was no longer bound
By reason or by gain.
Then I knelt and begged her pardon.
She gave me a rose that was grown from a chalace
And untangled her long midnight hair.
I offered my sword that was forged in malice
And together we decended the stairs.
Into the honeyed catacomb
Where ancient spectral shadows roam,
Riddled deep beneath the eternal city.
So cutting off a lock of hair,
I spun a yarn and tied it there
Interweaving into the roots of Ygdrisill
Those roots embeded in the mud
From which has flowed mesial blood,
Sacrificed from a last supper cup of pity.
We set of forth into the gloom,
Hand in hand below the tomb,
Endevoring to find the holy San-Grail.
We came across the Minataur,
Who froze our souls with awfull roar.
His moving hand spraying on old graffiti walls,
The names of those proceeding us.
Gillgamish, Virgil, Orpheus,
Dark Lillith, Eve, Medusa, and Persephoni.
We asked three questions of him then,
The how , the who and why the Zen.
And for his answer we offered him a silken ball.
His reply was a panic dance,
In which he jumped and lept and pranced
And thereby he did exorcize our agony.
We travled on throughout the maze
Unto the place where serpents layze
So that we might gain immunity from poison.
We offered each a naked vain,
Then left there soon while we were sane.
We had now discovered reasons for our reasons.
We found a tunnel in the ground
That when we entered in we found
A one eyed crystal giant bound by cords of rope.
And from his fractured ruby eye
A beam of light was opened wide
So we arose like reborn children full of hope.
Then high above us in the sky,
A hunters moon was drawing nigh
To offer us redemtion for all treasons.
So waiting for a day in may,
Before De Mater we did pray
And gifted up the greetings of all seasons..............
BBU TUT THEN THEN ! J
T H
H BU ! BUT ? T T EN A 2 THEN ! U U Y 2
H B T U ? B D 1
E B T BUT T THE NHEN ! E 9
N U 9
E ! h ? U 1 E E
L BU B T TTH N ?
E l N
B UT TH N P BU T TH E
N !
II
SACRIFICE.
The architect of doom strode forth with an iron triangle in her hand.
Below the sun and moon of dogs she wove a wedded band
That banished love beyond the wings, to wither in the glair
To have Adonis killed beneath the hooves that rend and tear.
Dismembered by his lover, tangled in their nuptual bed,
For telling future children that the Fisher King is dead.
Then laid with golden laurels beside his ocean bride,
To wave the laws of incest, conseptions deified.
In an act of awfull worshiping, that led to him defiled,
He that was the Lover.The Father and The Child.
Banished by a carnal bloodbath to join Persephoni,
His Contrapuntal serpent winds round the wintered tree.
And as in deaths sweet sleep, he dreams his body reeks of must.
Anointed by the priestess crone who tolls the price of lust.
Then spends the tarnished golden coin on seeds and flower pots.
Her garden of rememberance where seeds are left to rot.
Vaginal gardens, withered , then tossed into the sea,
That will renew the thorny flowers of Gethsemani.
That plot of reserection, besides the burial mound.
Where silloeted on the moon we see the baying hound.
The place to drink red bulls blood and fall upon our needs
And wander through the rose bushes to find Dionisis.
While in and out the shadows are cavorting round and round
Ancesteral stomping in the mud around the killing ground.
Beaten by black widowed Spartans with supple twigs of faith
Who fall upon the Oysters that bring relife from death
Where wreathed in whiskers of grey smoke, inside a living fire.
A virgin child is sacrificed to raze Him ever higher.
A lamb has been offered up, by being penetrated,
Then is given to the desert fish to become venerated.
Reanimating butchered meat to grant me one last chance.
To never tryst or worship any Gods that do not dance.
III
RESERECTION
He that was and was not so, was planted in the ground to grow.
Was poured with water mixed with wine. Nailed with arrows true and fine.
Fourced to lie across the Styx, multiplying threes with six.
He that was and was not so trades with Hades deep below.
Scaling down the sharp incline, fossle hearted with childish whine.
An eco through the long divine.
Endless reverb, just, because.
Its the same as it ever was. !!
He that was and was not so is missted, still in the meadow
Where Virgin mother will aproach, tender touch to teach and coach.
Offering unplumbed ecstacy without base sexuality.
He that was and was not so is bared to bosoms sacred show
He that was the mouth to teeth is overwhelmed from underneath.
Plucked the laurals for his wreath.
Reserected, just, because,
Its the same as it ever was !!
He that was and was not so
Is reaped like barley.While the crow
Pecks the stubble in the heat,
Feasting on the gobs of meat.
Pulls with tallons on the tounge
Sacred texture for the young.
He that was and will be so,
Like the sun to rise aglow
Treads the measure mile on mile,
Answeres questions from the Nile.
By His blood we are beguiled.
Venerated !!!
Just !!!
Because !!
Its the same as ever it was.!!
IV
THE SHAMAN.
I pull my eyes from out the earth, uncurl from a fetal position.
To sing my song of a loamy birth, cry counterpoint to ullulation.
With my skin I make the drum to beat with my thigh bone,
Rattle snakes are on my feet, widdershins to keep the beat,
In and out the fires heat, eating of forbidden meat,
Face to face with death I greet the great unknown.
The worm thats eaten by the bird, plants it seed within the turd.
The body buried in the mound, flowers , grows untill unbound
It sallies forth to start anew, Endless cycles, old debut.
Master of the metaphore, guardian of the little death,
Key to Axis Mundi door, posseser of the final breath.
With my dung I make the mask to paint with sacred blood.
A face from which men will hide.The face of men, who have died
The mouth of truth that has lied, demonic eyes full open wide.
Face to face with death I tried to stem the flood.
To save the mortals of the earth by eating of the afterbirth.
Change the rythem,
Up the cadance.
Welcome Ester, enter maydance.
Round the pole to part anew,
Silk ribbon thighs plated through.
So womens skirts and beads I wear,
With magic feathers in my hair
To dance the dance that brings relese
From terror times to planes of peace.
With my teeth I make the rattle to seek the shades of death.
Click Click sticks and shaken gourds shrill the whistle scream the word
Paint the navel kill the birds shake the bones and spill the curds,
Face to face with death I heard Her awfull breath.
Virgin Mother and Old Crone can melt the flesh right of the bone.
Can make you rise fresh flesh again.Endless pleasure. Perpetual pain.
Gifting madness to the few. Changing ancient to the new.
I wear my head inside out to backward step and fate to flout.
With my eyes I cast the orbs to gain tomorrows sight.
I look beyond the darkest shade, beseeching spirits for their aid,
To lead us from this lifes charade to give us strenght when were afraid.
Face to face with deaths cruel blade I breath the night.
And grow swell bellied in the wind to pay the price of those who sinned
For Im the piper and the tune. Ancient sage and man of lune.
Carver of thr mystics rune. He that was and will be soon.
With Hyenas I do bark and from the Vultures I arise.
Tearing tendons in the dark with gory beak and bloodshot eyes.
With flakes of sweat I cast the spell to trick the rain Monsoon.
Dance and suffer this abuse set upon us by the muse
All to gain and all to lose rutting in the primal ooze,
Face to face with death transfuse the wounded moon.
Warp the rythem over style, pause the meter then with guile
Brew the potions from the dew, chew the herbs of life.Renew
And lie besides the banks of Leath, the river of forgetfullness,
Then drink the wind from of the heath,rewarded by the Goddess.
All the shrinkage in the arts both sacred and profane,
Remembering lost innocents, the pleasures and the pain.
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