Poem: Treasury of Mist

LaBelleDame-Cowper-L

I am not a land mammal

But a lascivious sky dancer

With a face like a madcap saint

I have no time for nation or state

Only the wild empire of nature

An organic fortress of prismatic lushness

A tapestry of tightropes

Pulsing with the electroplasm

Of perilous, ecstatic voltage

I am a one man parade

Staid and depraved

A solitary orgy

Knocking down the dens of iniquity

We refer to as ‘respected institutions’

A post-modernist titan

Crawling up from a tartarean realm

I’ve re-imagined as a night club

For everyone to enjoy

Thunderbolts flew in my dream

And men with pointed hats of brass

Served me in a cafe of purest gloaming

I chased away loathsome demonesses

With Guru Rinpoche’s mantra

So they could be changed into goddesses

And instructional lovers

To rule the erotic coastlines of my thoughts

This is the treasury of mist

Towards which we moved

And the broken weather clock on the table

Signifying only ‘CHANGE.’

II.

But what of this new temptress?

This new cousin written straight from

Nature’s mossy pages?

Feline eyes and tiger brows

Thunder back to the past

Where I might have known her more

You and I could have

 A purely literary romance

Gushing poetry into eachother’s laps

Kissing on a bed of Keats

With Milton to torture our souls

III.

But this drunkard has become the tavern’s chorister

He has some rabblerousing to do

So I’ll throw up my brains in an old tin-loft

And present the mosaic of my imagination to you

 

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