Ongoing communication with the Count De St. Germaine
Born Around 1710 in San Germano, Savoy, as the natural son of an Italian princess.
He visited me again not long ago.
Speaking as he did, he did come and then go.
with endless perspicacity eclipsing empyrean fires,
One's magnanimous susurrus in aeons aspires.
Yet whither art thou, in this age cacophonic,
Where malisons spew from tongues misanthropic?
I perambulate, somnambular, through gloam’s desuetude,
Harkening phantasmal echoes in crepuscular interlude.
Yet only zephyrs, in dulcet effusion,
Intone their clandestine, windborne allusion.
listening for echoes that might still remain.
But only the wind, in mellifluous guise,
sings secrets in silence to cerulean skies.
These polysemous effulgences both wax and wane,
Guttering yet indelible. We rise above both spectral, and arcane.
antediluvian hush, betwixt frost-laden dearth,
Manifests a logos, in insipid girth.
antediluvian silences drawn,
vertiginous in hyperborean dearth
a logos, sir, in autochthonous rebirth.
Their hierophantic murmurs will obfuscate,
the omphalos of matter, still inchoate,
where perichoresis in tumultuous tide
the fractal that innervates, presupposed then shied .
A palimpsest of null embraces
where these false augurs drink from hallowed places,
and time itself forgets to turn. Why Obsess ?
For Nihil’s never but always caress,
Christo- fascist rising imbibe from those urns abyssal,
And Chronos forgets to turn his gear yet again.
How do we start and where to begin.
Perfidious orisons, whisper-thin,
in circumflected aeons spin,
converging on the cusp of naught,
where paradigms in silence rot.
A chrysalis of paradox,
enshrouds the fey, unbridled clock,
that chime in fugue, then dissipate
beyond the hinge of latent fate...
the collection plate from church to state.
The denigratory grand design
deliquesces in auctorial decline!
(Syncretic palingenesis unspools,
within the aether’s epistemic pools,
a syzygetic parallax unweaves
the thaumaturgic spoor that time bereaves.)
For naught but vacuous profundities remain,
a simulacrum of the arcane mundane,
where in sesquipedalian grandeur lies
a syllogism clad in grandiloquent guise.
Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian design,
circumvolute within circumspatial paradigms malign,
as obmutescent theogonic vestiges coalesce
in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic largesse.
Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and obtuse,
catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic profuse,
whilst locutions, effulgent yet contrite,
obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of night.
A transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and vast,
consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage
of our shared Jungian past,
germinates within the syntagmatic—
Ever relaxed or ecstatic,
Coalesced to pragmatic,
Lugubriously emphatic.
Within this hypostatized ratiocinative mire,
where sophronistic axiom and non-being conspire,
one finds but an echolalic, chimerical gleam,
an ontosemantic palinode to the dream.
The Archetype realized.
The Alchemist mystically re-materialized.
Count, oh Count.
"Wherefore art thou," indeed,
in this: our time of greatest need.
Come to us now in council.
Post haste and with speed.
Race ever faster on righteous
breed steed.
Deliver us from this egregious misdeed
enveloped in lust and slathered in greed.
Help us plant a seed.
Regrowth !
Rebirth!
I plead.
Dearest Count,
Forever must thou linger in shadow’s creed,
As we toil ‘neath venal decrees of greed?
Come forth in augural council and heed!
Post-haste upon thy seraphic steed!
Deliver us from this abhorrent misdeed,
Enshrouded in vice, in carnality steeped.
Lend thy hand that we might seed
Regrowth!
Rebirth!
I plead.
