witching third westminster quarter

 

a chronic static trumpet of advent

purrs my martian shaped ally into

being before me. hanging upside

down in a woolen royal union suit,

his old world ash afro now an odd

homage to odin as a fully dressed

christmas tree-horn burgeoning

three feet high from his little lime

rind head. a glass rainbow of

baubles and fat candle flame bulb

string of incandescent lights, a

spiral of white garland and silver

lametta all hang up toward his

sacrosanct center. clutching a tall

gnarl with the mystery anatomy

under california grizzly slippers,

he smells of animal crackers and

infants’ head, a witching third

westminster quarter. i lift my lotus

to meet his ink milk saucer eyes

which shine with ruthless smile,

his face dimples in the corners of

where his mouth would be, were

he to have one. my lips contort in

kind and my eyes well then spill

over. we converse in mind, he

spells first,

 

a being is responsible for its level

of awareness. assume yours and

forgive others of theirs. having

punched headlong through the

proverbial veil, you’re left to sail

the nagual or drown in its swell.

white knuckle your frequency and

behold a pale pegasus, bear

witness an emaciated centaur.

embrace your role as bell tower

ringing before midnight, knowing

your bellow may only wake a

fellow handful or fall to the deaf

altogether.

 

i am grateful for your council

and fain to play the bohemian

bird in the careful black forest

belfry of my tin foil tribe,

 

i reply, then continue in question,

 

any further tenor to marshal the

travel of my path?

 

play also pivot in the balance

of power costumed in control

between pink elephant space

monk brothers. usher silent

expression with word into

portrait of blood for the land,

 

he says and dissolves into a

gentle then oncoming spiral

white mist of light.

 

attending its center, i blink myself

into a tombstone

diner an old me died in eons ago.