Plato's dream

It must be something of a joke
"I exist"
"I am"
Obscene boast

"I" who surveying the mess of subjectivity find myself the only focal point
the locus
hocus
pocus

the god of the dream obscene
where all the characters read minds, and buildings half-
formed glisten in lucid brightness, bathed in the clear pool of divine subjectivity, infinity.

Yet i awake into the shadow, the ruin of temporal majesty

where now are my beloved Forms?

spat upon by garden gnomes and 

rows and rows of terraced houses identical in

bricks and 

roofs 

and inhabitants

To dream to sleep,

my roving eyes they long to peep

at 

big bosomed maidens 

reft of their garments

and 

champagne glasses 

Ialdabaoth

Do you seek freedom for your soul?

Spirit locked in mortal matter

A segment of a deafening whole,

Ripples in incessant chatter.

Fiat lux et fiat mundus

Does God so vain proclaim?

Or did the lord, as one, become us?

In heaven’s holy name.

Go now be free! The trumpet deafens

In Christ, all free within!

But yet I do not see the heavens,

He did not take my sin.

Song to Pristimantus Mutabilis, the changeling toad

Oh little toad, once born over

The night’s mantle and rising signs

That twinkling orbit giant, slower

Sigils of impressed creation times-

When once all things were not,

The void awaiting its pregnation

Fiat dictated from the highest spot

As little toad waited, quiet, patient.

The son of man was absent then,

But toad hid between folds within folds

Behind space and being made his den

And croaking laughs at all our lesser moulds.

Little toad, whose God wert thou,

And to whom did you burping pray?

Was it the Hittites, men of the plow

Who marked your harvest holy days?

Protean beast, marsh nugget,

Guardian of the reeking bogs

Two natures in one slimy bucket

Of flesh, a noble toad, not petty frog.

Thing of war, your horey sides

Edged with ridges, saw blade spines

Deflates as a waning connie dies

Slick skinned, weapons within confined.

Mars and Venus conjoined together

Within thee, pond-thing rude,

O’er love and war you’ll reign forever

And devour grubs, the choicest food.