December 1971

I am the same: ["I am Æon"]
 Before the prion and the iron
 The ion and the ink
 The hygiene and the stink
 Tune and kink
 Of the incense planet
 And the clock
 And the dock
 And the baying of merchants
 3 or 4 for 3 or 4
 Of that grain made me the Star
 That we wish had not been known
 Or drawn to us—the precious Romans
 Face or fake in jade
 I forget...
 Lord of the groves of olives and oranges
 And the dead tribes of the central scribal
 The tablets of stone and worry
 Thou shalt have no no no nothing
 But [BaalStorm]
 Put yourselves on our thrones
 Twelve or sixty or the blind
 I though of her just now—
 She is there naked like the water
 I cannot touch the punch
 Of her lips I cannot
 Dare to touch lip or skin or fold
 I gave gold to buy much less
 And gave more
 And nothing stayed but the [storms]
 Proud parade around the screen
 I will myrrh or myth or memorise her
 Her forehead in the Roman dream dusk
 Placed so much on her or hers
 That sand-scattered Moon
 Of the valleys claiming
 The Peacock and the Owl behind me
 Every grace was fresh
 But I felt the lash of Gospel
 Or Eagle—I could no longer divide
 Cæsar from the Trance or Twilight
 There is mum and dad
 And I am glad
 To be back and young
 In December 1971
 With the [storms] so far in front of me
 And the cell swelling with waves and shards
 On each of the brick is the crack
 And the crick in the slit
 Watch men
 Watch birds
 Watch TV
 And the SatanVans
 And the words I heard
 From the birds on [fire] was
 Or ["Sing Omega""BaalStorm! BaalStorm!"]