The kundalini of serpent's deadly ride.
In mindless rhythm does it hold its sway,
you rode it to final day that you died.
Yes Lizard King, speak, I call to you!
Particle tornadoes of destiny
whirl and alite
on the dust devil' back
to create patterns of play
and images of past portents as ...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMvfAYEaE8c
Swaying sands shift to wild wind's wandering,
(Riders on the storm!)
leaving sand castles of tormented time
on the dry beaches of wandering nomads.
A solitary traveller seeks
in past particles of present
to advance in his zealous journey
to the dry dunes of no time and space.
In hallucination's grip
he feels...
The storm of biting sand rising and piercing
all it touches, ripping bare skin to shreds.
A musical messiah throws himself on
the cross of uncaring and nails himself
on in unholy fashion.
In a state of sexual excess,
drunk in his power,
decaying in his genius
He loses himself 'in the word'
of mass produced psychosis
altering a culture proximity's
to death's reality
Moving...
Moving towards a destiny
leaving the footprints of musical history
in the ever shifting sands
of the morass of modern morality
through the broken hourglass of flowing time
flows the words that shape an American era
and yet the psychedelic guru knows
of only one heart's desire:
To seek an answer
to one question.
In his seclusion
a blink of god's eye
he sees...
the forgotten mirage,
the skewered vision,
the adept's dream
of the Lizard King
screaming nightmare obscenities
at those who woke him
from his long nap
of timeless death,
in the glare of the dying sun.
The ' lizard king' rises to his full height
as wings spread to a darkened sandy sky
He cries in an ancient tongue
The speak of a great serpent
Free me!
In rapid beat in deathless motion
rises...taking full flight
on leathery bat wings,
on a thermal of concentrated kinetics,
the wind worm spreads and glides
He seeks sustenance once again!
The sand man sees the dreams
of the children of Eve
and disappears into a swirling gust of wind.
A poet's woes, in lies the needles throes
of junkie's blues. In thoughts deluded will stand
the flesh of stinking doormat that decomposed.
In death his peace can lie in shaman's land.
How strange! such talent lost, empty madness
What fame, what name, a mystic legend in time.
Now does a lover shed tear, show sadness
at exit made by prose master sublime.
A door that opened in his acid trip
as he, in vain, just sought the other side
blood would bleed its true pain in silent drip
of someone on the white (death) horse astride.
Go Jim and seek the path of magic man
Cross into the land holding reaper's hand.
Shadow's substance flickers on walls of stone
as candles light the way to truth
The Mescaline shaman dances
painful throbs across the night sky
A wavering thought holds true to its mirrored form
as an ideal known by its reflection
Stars lose their lights as focus
turn inward to the esoteric images
of poetic death and a mystagogue's revels
Morning returns in a blaze of desert delirium
As we sway together as one
Darkness retreats from the advancement of light
as that of non being runs from being.
In that moment, we know God.
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
