Will he won’t he
Willingly sinking, pocket stones
Thrillingly singing, pocked throats
Going deep below
Though stationary feeling as of floating
Upon enfolding ocean holding my mind
Emotion tantamount to its motion I am a moon
Immense Nephilim brawn of Earth’s atmospheric pressure
Stars above, diamonds meshed Indra’s netted fates
Leant Norns by Wotan.
More immersed in I than ere before, yet self’s sense lessened
Perhaps senescence sets in, ego everafter a steel tested
Less liable to be self impressed, pricking o’erswole breast
Out that seamstress’ bole let rille pride’s leftovers.
Pot, preternature’s potable
A liquid coil of induction
Acolyte’s water
Falterer afrighted never ignited such as I now nightly
Never exalted to knighthood by mind-heightening elixirs
Caught like thresh against the lip.
Admix quotient coats my throat
Quotes Shakespeare as it goes
Nothing coming of nothing
Into her womb convey
Too small a bound but now two paces
But mercy is above this sceptred sway.
I see William Blake’s dwarf king face overbaked and sootblacked
Coughing delightedly, stooped over blazing foundry laked in black smoke
Eking out, freeing images from ferrous obelisks
Using bespoke acids, Xenomorph of Lambeth
In form all things fourfold, like a divinatory whirlybird a child creates
Each facet peeled back unto a fate supposed, is it life we make
Decode what is herein occulted, find His codes to know Him
Purity of a Dürer, in visage and vision’s potency a Christ Messiah.
Higher then, away from faces and places to placelessness
My body but the thing’s frame
From which depend souls in superposition
When one settles, another masks slips off or on
Frail armature, my ailing portion
All tension and torsion that way comes
Bidden to laws
Dust-crawed since Fallen Eden, Samael’s pome japes.
Alchemisland 
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