Clark Coolidge, A Book Beginning What And Ending Away
The shofar, split, is ignored.
Ignored, the bell of the gnosis.
The door is locked.
That is done.
Recitation heard, ignored.
All the oil in Solomon’s mind.
All wheel of Mithras’ hate.
Whole silence of vision’s temple.
Will of pain, will of the serpent’s
Pain, felt it, like a cave’s echoed pain
Behind the eye.
Under light’s humor, oblivious structure, three blessings—
Blade to left eye, beast’s brain
Collecting a day’s numbers
As if from a far secure star.
Blade to right ear, world
Enacting motherhood over
Blade to lips, human skull
With its river smile,
Is itself the Wheel,
The shuffling border.
God is wrong once.
Open in the head.
Not personal, can’t be.
No answer from the satyr’s horn.
What is known of the death of the child?
A devil is a kind of rhythm felt,
When night or high day threatens the
Home’s rituals, the mind’s wheel of songs.
Which John’s head?
That power is the coin,
Which has two sides,
I’m not coming out to drink tonight.
It all is pulverized.
No temple mile
Eats itself without
The crown of lucky roles,
The flute, our undone brow.
Natural, all natural, wreath’s
Ghost, wreath’s arm, its wind-
Round the summit,
No one can throw their wand
All that far.
News is cast to the dead.
Odd how they always react.
The horn, its noise and dust, cures.
Come stain the altar in the garden.
Its angles daily dirtied.
The pain is of a wooden temperament,
Though this wood is shot through
With silver nails.
Know it as a simple strength.
Overcome with bruising, welcome
Stillness, cold wine and cold night.
The call, heard, is accommodated.
The Seder’s geometry, kept
To know the postdrome.
A kiln run cool is another temple altogether.
Ben Roylance is a poet and ufoccultist from Allentown, PA, living in Amherst, MA. Editor and founder of Apport Editions. Editor of the Occult/Paranormal section at Entropy.