Ragged Turiya From Outside Space

[rowens]

Brands, sigils, logos float
combination locks 
periphery you sleeping-hold 
Saturn and Earth in your tentacles


Not planes, not Empire State Building.
Lin-Chi's "robes".
Printing-press, telegraph, internet,
ovum

Book open to deep crimson,
electric blue, dense purples.
Footnotes

[matsunosuperfan]

Brands, sigils, logos float
combination locks 
periphery you sleeping-hold 
Saturn and Earth in your tentacles


Not planes, not Empire State Building.
Lin-Chi's "robes".
Printing-press, telegraph, internet,
ovum

Book open to deep crimson,
electric blue, dense purples.
Footnotes

I won't pretend to understand it, but I love the sound and imagery. I guess the occasion is reading a valued book. It conjures not West but East? The ending may be a little unambitious. The periphery and tentacles are great details, get tactile. Love the invasion of "ovum" into the list of media. That's a delicious subversion.

[rowens]

Ode to Azathoth

Guardian of this wombed orb
of Common-Sense, as K sleeps rivaly
in their aquatic tomb, like fair Newton-
unbiased, your science adds much to crowded
Baphomet, whose Christed eye bodes
much to it, as Hank the proud strippers
he sees, foaming more than Cthulhu dreams.

Don't ask! is your divine Question;
softly twist plain Abrax's snakes
like Salvador stern in his mammonian 
bowers. Alert! as the God of Innocence,
entrusted child of his doppel-ego,
sits and plays with cats as equal
soldiers in afternoon's shadow-whiskers:
A face like so many-Lecter masked.

Score a gallant Sapolsky's geometry
to a hilly Garden's liberty;
Design an arborescent conquest
to the pipings of the tired Ego's
will. And dance asleep as your brethren
tolls the rich in Imagism skull
for death and doldpips; never
smell a shore not severed in smooth
Arrangements for deliberate Egyptian gore!

The drunk oracle stares into screens
of multicultured reveries. Fancies
unchewed, held up seemly by History's goons:
the prize-ribbon of remembrance and Fights!
Battles against the cancers that is
your Plight! Ding-Dong of Occultists'
Rhymes. The old Queer moan of satisfaction
blended common-place : Not autre, Ought-
consumed.—Eat at Joe's