Sunday, March 21, 2010

Succulent Suite (The Astral Plane Song of Karak-kar-ka-krak-sha)

Through sticky strands of flying tales
My friendships seem to pass,
Where wise old owls and little girls
Are laughing at the past.

Into the sun the flowers turn
Their petals brush the sky,
Honey bees fly into them
If you follow so will I.

A spider spins a web
And seems to go away,
But she remains to hatch her egg
Just watch the shadows sway.

If some song’s seven meanings
Leave much unexplained,
Open your eyes, don’t cheat yourself
What will be will save the day.

About elliptical clouds of ellipsoids
My refractions fly so fast,
Where crooked, aglow the dying woes
Are sailors before the mast.

Through corridors of spinning stars
A looking glass leads the way,
Against the frozen dust of a silent moon
The fires of the sun display.

Large corpuscles sublime appear,
They inflate amongst the mist.
Toward the goal they seem to soar
They lead the Just to bliss.

If you say your name backward
Does it sound the same?
Aleister Crowley has a job for you
On the Astral Plane.

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