Bring me forth
          from that nightflow
magnet for I
    have heard the calls
of my guardians
they have beckoned
                 me into a visionary stupor
pulled my head from the
           quicksand's mulch
my daily chores whirling
                         from my hands
             they are spinning me around
like a an electric charged
                   whirlpool of light
all objects caught up in
its path
             be they leaves
                              or rocks
or household appliances
and I am casting to hell
and highwater
            all of those warnings
as sacred adorations
nick into my solitude
I fling my demons to the skies
          release them to their
                              own salvation
I do not wish them before
                            my eyes
as I work my own deliverance
of beatitudes
   my own song of songs
spun into the glowing
Let them sputter and trip
over their words
           My inner hearing closes
upon their petty phrases as
they mouth them out of sync
             The path opens up before me
               as riverflow
                       in one graceful arc
Here I fight in my own
               siege of Orléans
No point in stopping me
because the vestige of
flickering truth is turning
into the solid molecules
                    of freedom's spark
right before
             your very eyes