Let’s take a silver train underground to the back streets of Atlantis thru the corrugated iron roots & then to the peak itself, to the saddle of the last ridge past strewn boulders, finally meandering thru cascading snow wearing miner’s hats on the perpendicular dark night & going up to the edge of the Southern Cross where we reach at last the pure white glistening glaciers & begin to chant over bones in rags of Scorpio Armless in the sticky substance how could they ever have had a chance? Permission will not be required only poems of blood offered to the memory of TREE It is not ice which is eternal but the fury of the absolute separating the void from the spirit of man, uplifting like life when it is used against itself, that is, Radical Love -- & again, we are reduced to living beings Caught by the instant we are taken away We live in the imprint of the flame & we are helmeted within the internal blackness where the ray begins its passage across the indignant sky Vain clouds uncaring in a tangle of crossbeams culminate in the hermaphroditic mirror of the epileptic dancer asleep And during sleep the light is joined to the light It is all a matter of getting up and then to abandon the pain It is there that the journey beings in the self generated flame of Spontaneous Combustion (Swayambhunath) The main line running counter to the triangle comprising the MAELSTROM, the DOLDROMS & the SARGASSO SEA where sleeping Atlanteans dream forever, this line, this battlefield of the ages, crosses the divide of my most wandering backdoor heart. We will all have to go if we want to reappear in the rhythm of the ritual It’s the wheel of fools spinning over my bed If I put my left foot first they will find a way to call me by that name tracking tremors like glyphs on drunken walls in the negative palace just before taking eave of my senses the white powder dissolves in the sunlight & making noise like a peacock he hops on one foot up the mountain.