| The twisted wings and cluds unfold
|
| And the greatgape of He who fell
|
| Makes darkened shadows over pointed spires
|
| Little children point and sing
|
| And little children run and dance
|
| Over there the setting sun
|
| And under that the silent stars
|
| And under they the weeping sky
|
| And under Her the laughing world
|
| (Balance sits in western parts
|
| And piles spare Spares in his gabled room)
|
| Great Anarch and Monarch of Not
|
| The Flight of Lucifer over London
|
| And my little grandson
|
| Wrinkled son forehead
|
| All tiny blue pain
|
| As the Mother Blood emerges
|
| Then the Mother Grief
|
| And the Blue Gates of Death
|
| Open armwide
|
| Open teethwide
|
| All dead like the leaves
|
| Old times shiver
|
| Old dead calendar
|
| Past blurred sunsets
|
| Cinders flying in His heart His heart
|
| His fingers punch holes in the sky
|
| (And all the little Christs I count
|
| Are covered in the breathwhite snow
|
| And all the little Christs I call
|
| Are laughing through the green green fields)
|
| Some of those angels have the face of God
|
| And some of them have the face of dogs
|
| (By the Tower of Moad — see the sky’s Greenangel form)
|
| And lucifer flickers all around me His hooded eyes alight
|
| In the smoky musk
|
| Look into Him just a little longer
|
| See the true face of the Moon
|
| So He wheels there through the heavens
|
| His eyes are dotted brightlights
|
| Licked with dust
|
| A golden seabird
|
| Halfdead with spray
|
| His banners broken flags in the wind
|
| Devouring life he breaks at walls
|
| The glint of dead fruits glint
|
| And then the Moon…
|
| And then the Moon…
|
| And then the Moon…
|
| (And sixsixsix
|
| It makes us sick
|
| We’re sicksicksick
|
| of 666) |