The interlaced, crystal glaze
the unsullied, vapor dust
tapers to slush
studded with stuff—
a wonderland interrupted.
THE AMORPHOUS, QUANTUM IOTA pulses expectant like the opening measure of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, the crescendo surely to come. The choral explosion carries creation still. Joyous, but furious, the harmony of the spheres cycle through the four movements. The falling strains in the finale signal a reset to atonality.
There might be something worthy of study concerning the occult;
a medium comes first in the black-jacketed collected works,
tapping into the collective unconscious to conjure up ghosts.
Freud would have none of this nonsense, even after his table split
psychically, then so did the two psychology pioneers part.
Analytical, beyond Freud’s hidden iceberg, fathoms deeper
into the sea, hominids connected by race and history.
If the body is built historically, why not the mind, tied
as it is to the three-tiered brain, cortex beret on the reptilian pate?—
the sharing of unconscious scaffolding: instincts and archetypes,
a tarot deck of universal symbols fanned out in lifetimes,
each a heroic quest crossing the milestones etched in the World-Soul.
The primordial wellspring resurfaces with Christmas trees and
UFO’s, pagan tradition and mandala mythology—
unquestioned—evolutionary, beyond the heart’s duration.
These introverts and extroverts seeking individuation,
the rays of Apollo, intoxication of Dionysus,
tied to functions: sensation, intuition, thinking, and feeling;
eight pigeonholes. Each fledgling develops separate from the nest:
persona to ego to shadow to anima/animus,
communion with the Wise Old Man or Woman, finally the Self.
The unus mundus presents acausal connections for review,
a synchronistic hypothesis that may fly beyond the world.
Formless void, chaos & desolation:
undifferentiated matter and form;
whatsoever, Milton intuited
Chaos as timeless:
alongside the Earth ornament
dangling in space,
The white feathers rustle, then settle—brood:
the dark-nested, watery, cracking egg.
State of the singularity on the edge
of the expanding mainspring of spacetime,
the serpent goddess wakes and unwinds
from the ground-of-being
the lotus crown.
Quantum coils in the water pot,
the storm bolts mete the falling dragon
into the gears on the spindle:
the apportionment of the four elements
onto the bony forces branching
from the primal coccyx,
and the chakral spine—
Tohu wa-bohu predates all,
from heavens and hells.
The icy hand of Death
starts with the feet,
reaches up from the
wants to pull you down
for a nice boat ride.
How long before one
gets fully embraced by
The Chill varies.
Best to keep plenty of
wool socks on hand
and dress in layers;
could be a long winter.
Hot chocolate! Almost
forgot the hot chocolate.
to be marked up
with lines and stanzas,
verse laid down with guidelines
strictly observed without fail,
the cadence of syllables met,
just the right word at just the right time—
a collage of phrases all puzzled out
for aesthetic effect when quoted out loud
or inside the mind that marvels at connections
between ideas and metaphors that draw meanings
of subtlety from some overarching theme or motif,
employing the tools of craftwork, literary devices
that jazz up the poesy and highlight the vision with precision
and with lyricism that reverberates like bells in a courtyard,
the toll floats on the late breeze toward sunset and fades out into echo.