IX

And as everything is in it's place,
The night turns into day,

The pattern of the whole
Damn thing--rudimentary notion.

What is known to me and what
I know it to be:

One, two, three,
Aleph, Beth, Dalet, Gimel,

As a string tie around my neck,
Suited up quick.

Indy had a whip,
I have the whole universe in my grip.

Between my forefinger and thumb,
The crescent strip--

A fertile miss--
The camel to carry you across the abyss:

Da'at.  You know?  All that esoteric
Shit, I forget,

Was it Yeats who said
When it all was gonna end?

Surely some revelation is at hand,
Fucking google it.

I don't give a damn
If you don't understand, esoteric is

Secret, secrets don't make friends.
I am the Hermit.

Once again, the feeling
Of bliss permeates my entire existence.

It was an existentialists dream,
Pure duality, an experiment

Dauntingly specific:
All that I have left like crumbs

Into the unknown, hold my hand,
Feel the bone,

A handle of conditions.
Curiosity glistens like the sweat on my brow,

I only follow my interests, now, Mr. Pound,
Procure me an audience!

I am high on the cliffs,
You vagabond--such a distance I see!

I sometimes wonder if you'd have
Defended me.  A friend

I feel across the ages,
My mind tells me with great efficacy,

I am my own damn savior.
Away in a manger,

No crib for his bed,
The little lord Venus lay down his sweet head.

The stars in the sky looked all around:
Lay, lady, lay--

Six feet underground.
By virtue of innocence I prepare a toast,

To Demeter and Pluto, I am a ghost
Heading to the crossroads,

New Mexico.  Smoke
Pouring around my home: pencil and pad,

Guitar and pack.  Almost a full moon,
Writing with a headlamp

At the hot springs
Where we were fortunate enough to camp.