ABYSSUS ABYSSUM INVOCAT @rvguernica - Tumblr Blog

#46

Devil, tear my eye out that I may bear witness to true Beauty: unsentimental—of the soul— and Brutal But first, Light—square in the eye, pale as Seraph— the better to mortify

#poem #poetry

#45 De-creation

And the earth was without form, and void; . . . And God said, Let there be light: and there was light —Genesis 1:2-3 KJV 1. To make a guiding star of senselessness in extremis—is this not a form of lucidity? Does this not combust the mind into utmost flames? Engendering hence: indwelling light. 2. To make dense of substance sheerest transparency, enough to hold me, and eclipse this breakable body— taken into confidence with the excessive night. Thus bodying forth: primal darkness.

published in Kahf Magazine

#poem #poetry

#44 crucifixio

a wound worthy of your faultlessness, a wound through which the faultless may ascend, Christ there you grew: where the stake stood there also the womb— agape— proving thus Holiness. as below, so the sky now too a wound forked-through.

published in Ninth Heaven

#poem #poetry #mysticism

#43 proteus

you are, to me, already a wraith, for time cannot hold you — your spirit proves vaster; kin to the world-wind, you are half-gone, borne along a solitude no visibility could plunder.

published in Sontag Mag

#poem #poetry

#42 Quaternity Prayer

i.

Oh you virgin mother, most sorrowful, you are the last breath of every prayer, you are a withered flower crushed underfoot, you are tragedy’s silent witness with eyes wide open like a grave, you are beauty fully borne.

ii.

Oh you faithful leaver, most ambivalent, you are the hell from which I derive my energy, you are what vitally destroys, you are quicksilver, you are the way of partial death from which I take the long way home.

iii.

Oh my beloved spouse, most humble, you are a simplicity that sounds the deepest depths, you are a dove rising from the mud, you are the attempt to flee a death not sacred, but of this earth, you are music incarnate at the cost of blood.

iv.

Oh you divine androgyne, most gone, you are the stillness within a rushing wind, you are holy self-remembrance, you are the love of the insane, you are the grief that collapses the grave.

published in Stone Circle Review

#poem #poetry

#41 Paredros

You who, with eyes communing always with angels, bereave me of the world: Whereupon rests your downward gaze? Take me there. To the place of your enduring vernality, and life at its most unsayable. To where you are, awake with sleep's perfection, simple and most entire. For all else is vast wilderness, from which flees none but evidence of respite.

published in Ninth Heaven

#poem #poetry

#40 soul's opus

“you must have life coming out of you.” —kazuo ohno you must not take along, but take within, and let flood colors self- refracting, for the soul reaches out of itself yet remains itself, desires to touch abyss aeternal. as chaos, so cosmos.

your god seeks a new face to clothe his eternal nakedness.

it must be faithful to your soul, and worn to be expressly worn out.

this alone can fulfill: when you are rags and tatters - and then, dissolved entirely.

published in Shot Glass Journal

#poem #poetry

#39 Transfiguration

You are too beautiful to be spared— you must die to yourself.

Unveil your glittering chastity without form,

And let the void be the instrument of your visioning;

Let the marvelously alien be your own secret church

From whose reaches resound your deepest incantation:

Orphanus sum, I am an orphan, and I bloom renascent.

published in Pandemonium Journal

#poem #poetry

#38 Psalm

I want my Joy to be a Joy that rends me, To reach a pitch supra-divine—no different from the most Exquisite Sorrow— that I vanish so utterly And thus intone: alas! alas! alas! So, too, I want my Sorrow to be a Sorrow that ravishes me, To plumb a depth wholly other—resembling Amazement Absolute— that I break into round laughter And thus cry: hosanna! hosanna! hosanna!

published in Ekstasis Magazine

#poem #poetry

#37 devotion

your manner, chaste to the point of oblivion; your voice, a choral evensong— how they touch me where i live that i can only stammer brokenly— oh, allow me then my sweet penance.

published in Rundelania

#poem #poetry

#36 Ars Amoris

We do not touch so long as we comprehend no gulf, for then we are not two but legion. And as we are neither this, nor that, a gulf is a bridge leading to the likewise invisible. So know love's essential condition: to take in what suggests itself, while being wise to another's eternity. For life is a river, and the heart of things is never finally ahead, but forever round the bend.

published in Rundelania

#poem #poetry

#35 Nostos

I can envisage nothing beyond The Vast Bind, for it contains its own abyss and mirrors every self-haunting that is our heritage. Perhaps, this is why, every so often, we must be struck dumb, for our deepest life—the sigh in our souls— longs to be countenanced. We remain fugitives nonetheless, and our most secret longing is to be chastised until we despair of outlasting oblivion —and so to suspire!

published in Rundelania

#poem #poetry

#34 Self-Portrait

My True Face is a Totem which has plumbed itself without sight, for only the Blind Eye is veritable, and only the dimmed i confronts I.

#poem #poetry

#33 monad

when i am total, i do not intend to manifest forever, shining; i intend to become the night inside me, like laughing water, self-whirling.

published in Rundelania

#poetry #poem

#32 pangs of birth

return is onwards, not to remain but to become—born into final innocence: self-evident as an animal whose eyes, ensouled, see through. but, before all else, do not forget to tend the unborn child, for it is quickening inside you and eats of you.

so, suffer your ripening, and learn to be high-sorrowful; never mind the guarantee of eternity, for it witnesses itself. tempered by fire, be a temenos for the uncaused, and, above all, do not forget to die.

published in Quibble Quarterly & Spiritus Mundi Review

#poem #poetry

#31 Unborn

I must inhabit the specificity of the wordless

Truth is only as certain as air

The empty I long for is not arbitrary, but absolved

The only coming across is to disappear

The empty I long for is naked, not gone.

published in Eunoia Review

#poem #poetry

#30 primordial tautology

and so it spun its web in anticipatory mourning, dancing to the wingbeat of flies, knowing that it all ends there and then. tremulous now, it leaps into the gone, subdued by witnessing flesh after which comes the furnace of duration.

published in ZiN Daily

#poem #poetry

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