UNTITLED NOTE:

Civilizations, untold origins, the Foam
— rinsing shores, shaping tunnels below.
All that sings of Thoth's manuscripts is a
        search for the Grimiore of bound leather:
  Deer woman humming with Light's array -
          Blue Star Kachina ----  Saquasohuh near.
Cheers of merchant's fill narrow, crowded     streets masked with thieves and killers.
         Masked figures languid with glances and
      Vendors, circulating wealth, appealed only a lonely king who sits solemnly on his throne.
       Conjured political mutants, armoured suits
       
         
        Fabricated for the Hidden War T.A. by the  
     Demons dressed in fine silk, choking wine,
     Royal amethyst is the Crowns Radiance.
    Sits gently the hall's marble reflection.
     Instead, building of Shelter, believe truth,
The wooded realm of Moss:
                 Leaves fallen, a crisp Autumn Quilt.
                                        Soon!
    A Meeting with a Man who is proclaimed the
        God of Foxes, with dirt fresh from his Den.           Dormant spaces, listening to burrowed
            Moles in the rooted fixtures.
                                         Soon!

Drifts upstream, bound by Hermetic Law,
          Sceptre held high in the dark, silenced rhythm racing, sounded by Galleons.
         The giving of my eyes, to travel across,
Emerged to see at last the Orpheus at midnights banners lifted signals sighs,
          Only to see the face once more.
                       The time!
                     A as MUST LEAVE!
The hearing of tales waits by the cross!
The Bard has made the Pilgrimage
We must leave ---- Selves of New --- Now,
The forest of Black blows the Horns of Cyprian Centaurs, attendant of Aphrodite,
Summoning a Hierarchy of White Angels, Drawn closely, reeled dreams unknowing.
The bedroom walls begin widening ---- Maws retract Underground Crags,
Children's laughter echoes each tunnel,
Lost children of the Roman Invasions,
Each house torn apart, screams inhale
The torches of the Night, muttering prayer,
The sweat dissipates.
Am I free from time?
Am I the acceptance without triumph?
Listen to the tales of William Blake's,
"And did those feat in ancient time."
May the sword forged in Imladris
Never sleep in hand before the Sirens,
Reminded of circe voices again like before.
The seizing of Blake's Palace of Wisdom;
A siege marched to the Gates of Khmun,
Orchards turn to black stained sorrow
As each feather returned to the Eagle's
---- the Great Nest ---- builded in sky ----
Gives the secret pass of feral Romans
In the history of times spent lost.
Free the Land of Gaul! Keys of Lorien ----
Druidic cloaks do hide normal faces,
The Sun will be born today.
The changeling is destroyed.
Who is it? Who must sleep the alters song
Shared with children of the small town?
Who must reach the life and death embodiment, obtain remarked conditions, Writing the symbols of Trismigistus, asked
Celestial travellers who came to us,
Sent of homes, the universes, we will find!
Expansions, countless, arrive and flowing Streams of cellular civilized burial grounds

The day becomes clearer.
            Thoughts of mind's condemned
             Like Astronomical findings erased,
             Cast over the Clergys trove of Gold.
      Walk the bridge to Elf-Land.
            Libraries dot the greenery of Lamp light
            Held restless by a fragile, dying hand.
                     A message arrives yesterday:
Retraced fingers upon window panes,
               Ocean maids dance from the Foam.
At last, we are all the Might of Foam.
            Aim sharply, Artemis follows nearby,
Ready to take the season's Hunt,
           Knife in hand, tasting the hot blood of
The Boar who roamed the Domes Terrain,
       Remains is the hide tough, the holiness of       naked skin, beneath shielded fur.
           The cold breath taken before images
Released to the invention of New Selves.
         All that the peaks legends speaks to
              Learn the language of Lost People,
              Pierced by the spear tipped Jungle.
        Only God is in these pages loosely drawn
       On a young editor's lap, a rough sketch,
              Like the brief life of a sick painter ----
     Coughing over the textured canvas,          Incomplete, it all reads, blank page, anxiety             Emerges so Defend Selves!
           Defend the Right to Holy flesh upon
          Our immortal veins harnessing energy.
         The geometry is true! In the Sphinx ----
         A transition to the God's suggestions
          Of the route never taken by foot.
      The geometry in platonic dimension,
       New ratios, new engineering, New Light
          On the mornings Exodus to the Gardens
        Valley's seen only by the sleepless night's
      Side by side, Dionysus, tasting rich wine,
             And a note drifts in the soft winds.
†