Underneath the black walls of light
My star man, the female aspect
I left behind: enwombed in time:
Yang hides its yin inside of him
Here’s where we never have to choose
Between below and all above
Inside my yoursoul: two-sided:
A safe space for those gods to talk
More and more his old dark pulls me
Toward that crush in the center
Where if I wake she’s standing on
The ceiling looking up at me
Scrying her nine million microscopes,
Mind drunk on laniakoscopy, she
Plucks with lust a loom of golden leylines
Harplike to focus the nlimnite crystal
At her one Gargantua Particle
Bestowed on the angels each, like their gnames,
The Particle: a corpuscle of God:
She enstashed that hraw monad in her mind
Working an eviternity till now
To coeurprehend its weird architecture
Crystal, keys, chi-glyphs each in syzygy –
Sophia wrings a splash of ylem from an
Ygg tree growing in her laboratory –
Crazy apples cooling on the timepane:
A wicker basket of black holes for snacks
The sounds of Yes om slow and molten from
Her intricate instruments – unichords –
For now is the wowly kairos! she sings
And tipping accidentally, her cup
Dispills its psychedelicacies. “O!”
Dripsy daisy the liquid seeps in deep
Drench-and-drowning her only particle
Oiling over those glittering leylines
With the quality of oh no. The Oo
Eximploded and Sophia with it
This entry was posted in
#philosophy, #poetry, post-neology, Writing and tagged #angels, #freeverse, #gnosticism, #god, #oa, #poetry, #psychedelic, #religion, #science, #scifi, #space on September 11, 2019 by . Joseph Westley Ammons
I want my words
with your rods and cones.
I’m a young gun,
but I can rhyme some sounds
and I am down to go down on
some extended metaphor.
I want you
to open wide
and I’ll do mine
and we’ll read each other
and scream things.
I want discursivity
and your fluidity
and your phenomenology
on top of me.
Let’s have a
about your form,
‘cause it piques me, honey bee.
Get me off
I’d love to be
between your sheets,
wet with ink.
Let’s alliterate a lot
and let lyrics lick little
liminal spaces lightly.
Let’s write each other letters and seal them with kisses then tear off the envelopes with the hunger of younger lovers.
Let’s let go.
This entry was posted in
#philosophy, #poetry, #prose, Writing and tagged #freeverse, #juvenilia, #language, #love, #play, #poetry, #sex, #word on September 10, 2019 by . Joseph Westley Ammons
like an inside-out lake dreamt and
isn’t always evil,” i cringe and stuff a bald eagle through the eye of a needle
Above gold Firenze
A caraffe, olive oil, and bread
Vacant and still in patient rows
Between the heavens and
The city of
question marked with wormholes
in one hand, the stars – the other
Your work with fire –
Fueled by both hate and love –
For yourself, and turn it in by
Is there any darkness left
Inside the geodes?
Has anything gone unscanned?
cigarette packs: rainbows
anthropologies of litter
two men cranking old slot machines
arsenals of soda
a beer walk-in