top of page

The Manuscript Was On My Head

He was looking in the mirror walking down the hall, this lettre is getting thin, I'm drawing

Blanks again in every drawer pulled, for the bullet caught between the teeth, put inside

The gun made for it and placed upon the shelf beneath, the sacred heart of the remains

What remains I could hardly speak for it, where is the source of each one of these, sacred

It is when one divines to be angelic in the realm of a captivated stare, lost for ages the

Name whispered in my ear, what it is I think is that, in costume as one is to recollect, beings

Of the fourth mind, for the eight eyes aligned and blessed, the self projection of the body

Of Christ, whom, rearranging numbers like letters for colour, three black flames ignite upon

Horizontal candles made from the moonlight reflected off the mirror ,, the first to leave a

Scarlet imprint is Silver flown left toward the starry curtain and steps right from the cave

The center candle flame moves to the right and the left ignites engrained carved in both

One and the Same the Silver becomes all encompassing emptiness revolving in circles

Around the light bleeding out from the caduceus held in the reflection of the one kneeling

In the position of the black dragon before all becomes light upon the sanctuary againe

Recent Posts

See All

The Hourglass

Point A Needle To The Sky, Centered Minds Point A Gun To My Head, Circumstantial Ends Point A : The Diamond Sutra, Centrifical Forces Yet There Are One Thousand Arms Tied Up In The Book Of The Dead An


never was there such a hand beneath the sin play to the part of the devil's grinning twas there such a death as to it


bottom of page