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As I Did Not Lay Abed One Misty Night

As I lay adream one misty night,
in my mind vampire delight alight
did: before me I saw no one but
a woman more covered in blood that
were fresh enough to distinguish what
diff'rence between that and mud exists.

Over her bed her head as onto it she
trawled, trailing her behind in that way
which doth enthrall the mind, at least my
kind; but to move on this piece let me
say she were alone in that imaging
I gained with out delay hindering.

And as she slid her left hand forw'rd
of a sudden it hid beneath sheeted
fold, imperfect yet comfortable
to behold, and one be going to bed;
then, in stead she sprang as if to man,
to be comforted, renewed, and sang:

My coat of many colours, thou cover
me beneath, dry my understanding,
still wet be my belief; and if I
be demanding, asperge me not
in lieu of commanding that I yet
have to forget, my comprehending.

Accuse me not now of unfitness
as I make my way into bed for
I left it not in a mess and nor
would I have so my head when awake,
so slake my thirsting for life and take
away this knife, my body, as it's
own way it cuts and, as my eyelid
shuts, open my Third Eyes that I
may see my truth with nor cover nor
disguise. And to my surprise she saw
me as I sate there, her eyelids now
unshut, and beaming bright at me how
many, how many rays now cut ways
through aethers in which I perambule
when I to my dark grow and wondered
just how long before my mist should go.

Well, a Third Mouth opened up, let out
a banshee scream, banished me for avert
and I returned to my own dream.

Now I shall never know just what she
meant to do, but I wean she were in
tending to examine what she knew,
that blood experience imaged in
my sight, truth of symbolism one
gains when, in the night, uncovered by
outer, seeming form, the seam to one's
reality become unwefting norm
and the facts with which we deal unreal
and blissful still and we learn, and we
be wise, of the truth of our own will,
which in her case were not to have me
residing on her mind's eye window sill.

Author notes

1: "Accuse me not now...", a Reflection In Fragment of the funeral Stele of one Ankh-f-n-Khonsu ("His Life Is In Khonsu", Khonsu being a Moon God), as translated by The Great Beast, Sir Aleister Crowley 666.

And did Those Feet in Ain't Shunt Time walk Up on?

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