Friday, April 8, 2011


While searching for Hiram Abiff,
I crossed the burning sands and died in seven deserted lands.
Raised triple blessed I saw a crescent sun
pay obeisance to the moon and stars.
While Ifrits and beings with seven digits
Wage cunning war ending in amours
All the way from Mars to the plain of Jars.

Two hundred and seventy three extinguished lights,
so the seekers read with three sixty candle lights.
Still, the questioners of I am cause ethereal blight,
Until Alice traveled through an organic singularity
no one could refute the pious claims of universal topology.

Capitalists discuss manifest destiny
Theorists advocate historical necessity
As the materialists become eclectic in their dialectics
Kant went ballistic and exploded,
Kierkegaard denounced low culture’s sadistic hedonistics

I hoist an iron flag and trod through the hyperplane in which I carried a little clay pot
That held a land that time never forgot,
for it is where Gog and Magog ran amok
With many heads operation phoenix was blessed
The diseased speak of peace,
their left hands caress grey, gun metal.
The right sells embalmer’s grease.

Till I rise like Osiris
there will be no end to the crisis
so we ask Horus to lead the mad chorus
We seek one whose oscillations are harmonic,
Travels like a photon that proves the existence of a Higgs boson.
In the meantime,
Industry researchers spend millions on useless chirals
to keep gluttons in an endless spiral

I cast seven cowries with bated breadth.
And wait for Ifa to predict the hour of my death
Listen to things and earthly kings.
But remember that Attila was the true lord of the rings

If while evading spirit sniper’s wiles,
and staring into the bamboo tiger’s hooded eyes
You react with a Buddhist smile

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