"Ripple
What gravity takes away pulls
And what it can't see puts
In camarillas—they lie still
There objurgations compress
To combine and create,
Uncontained, the warm effluviums
In certain types the calyx has fallen
Prior to edge they dropped
Making fulgurate the air around
Ripples (brushlike) they become
Pure in tone, extended
To point (seeing ends)
Where the paraclete sleeps
In rooms outside there is
The thick peace of songed sleep
But we, the cataleptics,
Must venture out alone with our clean
Into what seems a source: the without"
—Ovid Neal III
A star named Hedorah. More about "Mothra". Wikipedia is on it.
"We seem to us (the real Us!) to be reading our Amenti in the sixth sealed chapter of the going forth by black." —Finnegans Wake
No comments:
Post a Comment