make me.. whisper.. in thousand poppies/in the valley of wrath


I water my anger
to the Virgin blest yclept
a sun – ypointing eternally slept
by brooding darkness myrth

Then you, violence, my  fancy of itself
of wrinkled care desires
make me.. whisper.. in thousand poppies

lost in sudden, turns damp to infusion brewed
of the winding morning chalice
hence  the frolic awakening of a spinning man
cast high awakening malice

Poppied, yellow June
has such violent roses
to the thorns has  long, sharp
fingernail,

amulet, blade
fingertips of  cobra Basilisk
All wreathed bites
echoes in a rumpus of shade

Wrath after wrath
into the happy blossom
to shake the poisonous bell
while yet my  weep cheer Cimmerian

In the budding of the caterpillar

hell
upon grey bloody hair
and not within my razzmatazz eye
and upright mad rabid Lyssa
amidst the feast of rage-stuffed time

I touch
the necklace of Harmonia

(hallowed be my irre)

The thunder-blasted glees  or past injustices,
shall bloom the thunder flashes of lightning
in the drip all over dominion

Sometimes suddenly
comes at eventide beggar
knight named NIGHT with the coinage in all the pomp
frenzied Zadkiel holds my dagger, dressed in Indigo-Sloth

or one more worthy sunfish
caught in blood down dry
dare, cornucopia…

to lay down upon the poor sleeper’s cry