04-27-2023, 10:31 AM
I read this poem the other day. W. S. Werwin wrote it. That W is upside -down.
I'm not I posted it here, because it justifies a lot of the symbolism in my poems.
The anti-story arc carries on the arc. Satanism carries on Christianity. Human language carries on what that is.
I have a Code. I won't rape or kill you; but I will be like ECW Raven and be audacious asshole beyond human experience.
I,
I am beyond, beyond my eye/Vision/I.
.
.
Not anyone uece
not Raven from jew
not raven from turd island
not anything
NOAH’S RAVEN
Why should I have returned?
My knowledge would not fit into theirs.
I found untouched the desert of the unknown,
Big enough for my feet. It is my home.
It is always beyond them. The future
Splits the present with the echo of my voice.
Hoarse with fulfillment, I never made promises.
I'm going to rewrite this poem changing one word:
NOAH’S RAVEN
Why should I have returned?
My knowledge would not fit into theirs.
I found untouched the desert of the unknown,
Big enough for my feet. It is my home.
It is always beyond them. The future
Splits the present with the echo of my voice.
Hoarse with fulfillment, I never made mistakes.
That one word I changed makes it satanic.
Before I made that one-word change, it wasn't biblical.
Bible=Book, The Book.
The Bible is a satire.
Satan exists between belief systems.
The cork between the alcoholic and the sealed bottle
the board between the torture spike of the Jehovah's Witness and the cross of the friendly Baptist on the hill
the hymenblood between your best bud in highschool who took your soul mate's virginity and your current installment on earth
the head chopped off and the towers felled between watered down Islam and the real Middle Eastern thing
The Devil exists between promises and mistakes.
Othewr
sei
there is no Satan
but agon.
Ro, 20023
Ar Ammons
I don’t know somehow it seems sufficient
to see and hear whatever coming and going is,
losing the self to the victory
of stones and trees,
of bending sandpit lakes, crescent
round groves of dwarf pine:
for it is not so much to know the self
as to know it as it is known
by galaxy and cedar cone,
as if birth had never found it
and death could never end it:
the swamp’s slow water comes
down Gravelly Run fanning the long
stone-held algal
hair and narrowing roils between
the shoulders of the highway bridge:
holly grows on the banks in the woods there,
and the cedars’ gothic-clustered
spires could make
green religion in winter bones:
so I look and reflect, but the air’s glass
jail seals each thing in its entity:
no use to make any philosophies here:
I see no
god in the holly, hear no song from
the snowbroken weeds: Hegel is not the winter
yellow in the pines: the sunlight has never
heard of trees: surrendered self among
unwelcoming forms: stranger,
hoist your burdens, get on down the road.
Where I am, there's a park in town that has woods that has a gravel trail called Gravity Road.
The poem I just posted, I think about sometimes when I walk there
I'm not I posted it here, because it justifies a lot of the symbolism in my poems.
The anti-story arc carries on the arc. Satanism carries on Christianity. Human language carries on what that is.
I have a Code. I won't rape or kill you; but I will be like ECW Raven and be audacious asshole beyond human experience.
I,
I am beyond, beyond my eye/Vision/I.
.
.
Not anyone uece
not Raven from jew
not raven from turd island
not anything
NOAH’S RAVEN
Why should I have returned?
My knowledge would not fit into theirs.
I found untouched the desert of the unknown,
Big enough for my feet. It is my home.
It is always beyond them. The future
Splits the present with the echo of my voice.
Hoarse with fulfillment, I never made promises.
I'm going to rewrite this poem changing one word:
NOAH’S RAVEN
Why should I have returned?
My knowledge would not fit into theirs.
I found untouched the desert of the unknown,
Big enough for my feet. It is my home.
It is always beyond them. The future
Splits the present with the echo of my voice.
Hoarse with fulfillment, I never made mistakes.
That one word I changed makes it satanic.
Before I made that one-word change, it wasn't biblical.
Bible=Book, The Book.
The Bible is a satire.
Satan exists between belief systems.
The cork between the alcoholic and the sealed bottle
the board between the torture spike of the Jehovah's Witness and the cross of the friendly Baptist on the hill
the hymenblood between your best bud in highschool who took your soul mate's virginity and your current installment on earth
the head chopped off and the towers felled between watered down Islam and the real Middle Eastern thing
The Devil exists between promises and mistakes.
Othewr
sei
there is no Satan
but agon.
Ro, 20023
Ar Ammons
I don’t know somehow it seems sufficient
to see and hear whatever coming and going is,
losing the self to the victory
of stones and trees,
of bending sandpit lakes, crescent
round groves of dwarf pine:
for it is not so much to know the self
as to know it as it is known
by galaxy and cedar cone,
as if birth had never found it
and death could never end it:
the swamp’s slow water comes
down Gravelly Run fanning the long
stone-held algal
hair and narrowing roils between
the shoulders of the highway bridge:
holly grows on the banks in the woods there,
and the cedars’ gothic-clustered
spires could make
green religion in winter bones:
so I look and reflect, but the air’s glass
jail seals each thing in its entity:
no use to make any philosophies here:
I see no
god in the holly, hear no song from
the snowbroken weeds: Hegel is not the winter
yellow in the pines: the sunlight has never
heard of trees: surrendered self among
unwelcoming forms: stranger,
hoist your burdens, get on down the road.
Where I am, there's a park in town that has woods that has a gravel trail called Gravity Road.
The poem I just posted, I think about sometimes when I walk there