Saturday, April 26, 2014

The Liturgy of the Literary Diabolist: Creative Platypus

The Liturgy of the Literary Diabolist

I reached into the river and pulled out meaning
While Cratipus shook his head and Zeno
Scribbled figures in the sand
Sunlight glinted from a thousand facets
Each facet a world of infinite points
Untraversable by flesh and blood

Forging what we stole
Forging what we stole

Rape of the Earth, Apollo, Apollo!
Smintheus the destroyer.

What’s that Thom?
Still mooning over Jean Veudrel
Morte douze ans aux les Dardanelles?
Get up and write,
-Now there’s a lad-
All this pining will drive you mad.

And Jean Veudrel is dead
And Siegfried Sassoon is dead
And G.B. Smith is dead
Wiseman’s in the middle of the fleet
-Thank God-
There’s safety in numbers

I tried to tell you then
Don’t go that way
But I don’t think you really heard me
On the night when all the candles were lit
You were hell-bent on going
And the room was dark
I tried to tell you it’s not the sort of thing respectable people do
Consorting with spirits
I don’t know why I wasted my breath
For an hour’s conference with the Dead
Are you even listening?
I am

All the good boys are in their graves, Charles;
All the good boys who died in the mud and in the blood.
Can’t live up to them, can you?
-In the mud and blood.

As Hyperion to a satyr
You gods rule by beauty

And the spheres still turn in music
As when the worlds began
While Wotan rests upon his spear
Dreaming dreams of Man.

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