Roosevelt the god
Lies dead in a flower garden
Lenin in his tomb
Has been deified by the icon worshippers
And      tomorrow
Is          tomorrow
Is          tomorrow



Prismed world of planed dispersion
Jonah Mona, Nojah Boa
Crystal sphere reflects immersion
Of thrones and stones and bones and tones

Star of East
Bride of Beast
Star of West
Dragon’s crest
Star of South
Lion’s mouth
Star of North
Shadow forth

“And be forever falling
Around the edge of the world.”



                                —- for we
Are but mortal and can not see
Nor know what demons lie between
Where misty columns soar unseen
To mark the space where witches roam
While warlocks form their lines to comb
Each nook where human might be screened
And finding one out march each fiend
With grisly token of the hunt
To cast it by the altar front
Where stand the mouthing Druid priests
Whose forms are those of hellish beasts



A Play (in progress)

And it came to pass in Caliph LAND in the reign of GRADY THEBADASS that ye PHYLLIS felt a sharp pain in ye rectum as of a farte unborn and thereupon did call down imprecations upon the head of our most dread liege, crying “Fie upon thee, my Lord, and forsooth, for thou rainest not!” Whereupon tidings of these words being brought our lord as he addressed the assembled multitude in ye North courtyard and he, being appraised thereon, was heard to groan with the voice as of a thunder-box, “Oh, shit!’ Thereon did 40 thousand pairs of iron pants hit the pavement with a clang! And 40 thousand scruffy long hair Berkeley hippie types did squat and strain, and a most un Godly stench did arise to ye Heavens. FORINTHOSEDAYS the King’s WORD and LAW! And Bullshit was unknown. And the North courtyard was awash with effluvia.

Then wast a woundrous miracle seen in the land, great & marvelous to Behold! Three Wise Guys riding camels came out of the East crying, “A Star! A Star!”, but we were all out of stars, so they had to make do with Rita Hayworth. And all cried that it was the greatest thing since God made little condums. Whereupon it was seen that farce is spelt with a “t” and not a “c”, a wonder to behold amongst ye wise.

And wonders and portents were seen in Ye sky! T.Casey asshole (yclept “Shit-For-Brains) did vaunt himself THE GREAT WILDe BEASTE cometh back across Ye Abysse, and did Fart and Stench about, making Muddy ye waters that had been so clear, and generally making odiferous Ye landscape, as of an ancient Oriental rice paddy teemed with night-soil that had been ex-hum-ed, and giving a stench in ye cup of hot water as becomes Instant Shit. Whereup[on ye King did sit and ponder. Also did ye Karl Westkrap most foully deceive and procrastinate and refuse to pay Ye Caliph for slides promised and delievered for ye Deck of Fiddlers cards, most gapeingly agrace w/ye production errors undimm-ed, thereby inviting Ye karma dumping run upon his head as a shit monument. Yea verily.



    There is a city — with domes and pylons
A City of light — and many colored
And once when I was very small
I came nigh onto this City
Yes, up the spiral stairs – like any outsider
But I was curiously at home.
Yes, it was like coming home
And I started walking towards this City
Across a plain that was black as night
And under a dome that was also black
But though the plain stretched on to infinity
it seemed

     Yet it was like being in a closed room
For there were no stars — it was very strange
So I walked quickly, very quickly
But before I came to this City I met a Something
It was like a white flame
All pulsing and alive

     But as I didn’t know what it was I challenged it
And it turned all kinds of angry colors and buzzed
Yes, he buzzed — as if annoyed

     So I protected myself and he went away someplace
But that made me stop and think

I wasn’t afraid 3/4 but I wasn’t sure of myself either
Who knows what strange Somethings might be in
                               that City?
I didn’t — and maybe there were those
Who would only laugh at my simple protection
Because to them it might be useless – who knows?
I didn’t —
So I turned around 3/4 and I walked to the stairs
No – I didn’t run – I walked
But very quickly – as I always seem to do in
                                that strange place
And I slid down the banisters
And I walked down the ramp and around to the big
That is set in the Wall
And I came through and closed the                                                  Gate
And sealed it up tight 3/4 real tight.
But some day I’m going back to the City
Or Someplace – – – – – – –
But when I do I am going to know what I am doing
And because I will know what I am doing
I’ll go right on in — or anyplace else I want
                                 to go to
But first I’ve so much to learn
And so little time to do it in
And I never have any time to myself anymore
But I will — someday.



Oh little worm who burrows, burrows
Making tiny, hollow furrows
Deep beneath my sagging mound
Here within the loggy ground;
Boasting of your courage brave
Of your campaigns in my grave;
Blazing trails through wilderness
Braving stagnant lakes of cess;
Pioneering through the muck
Making camp within the guk
Tell us, little worm, please do
How the welling slush did goo
When you opened up the hull;
How you crept around the skull,
Where the water level stood
When you peeked beneath the hood,
How you traversed all alone
Many leagues of softened bone,
Where you found the floating lobe
Of my ear, how lay the robe
On my shanks. And did you note
Those loosened scabs on my throat?
When you skidded down my foot
How large was the myrtle root
That had spread between my toes?
What was that within my nose?
When you took those playful nips
At the scale upon my hips
Are you sure that there you saw
A drooling fester, fat and raw?
I will take you at your word
If you wipe away that curd.
You must learn to be discreet;
From a habit to be neat.
As your winding way you squirm
My blessing on you, little worm.



Isaac in the burning bush
Fair Lady in The Tower
Aries in a Cloud of Flame
Dana¨e ‘s golden shower
Eleven is Her holy name
Flora is Her bower


“But before you can know Rama
you must first see The Devil”



Brooding eyes, apish browed,
What weird surmise lurks there endowed
With formless substance!
A gray blurred sphere
Ringed and glowing
Jagged rents
Flashing, twisting
Dissolved and warped
Tight coils of hate
Clashing, chaotic.

Smooth sweeping girders
Looping curves
Strange arcs that lead
A somewhere vague
Stark time is gone
And in its place
A central fire
A bridge of suns
All motions and
All loves are one
To Him whose Will
Because is done.



In the Gardens of Adonis
Down the headlands of Lebanon
Groves of cypress, rue and pine trees
Hold their ancient, holy trust,
Hidden deep within the foliage
Marble temples clothed with verdure
Bramble branches bar the pathway
If you seek with knowledge lust.

Yet to him who comes a pilgrim
Who would taste the sacred vintage
Wine the blood and son of Cybele
Let him know, this is the Law;
Come with yearning soul and kingly
Know and be the god Adonis
Pass your way, and dye the scaffold
Ere is told that which you saw.



Fierce Virgin of the Sacred Source
Attracting all the world to Thee
We pray the Knowledge of Thy force:
Thine aching Negativity!

Thou Vacuum at the heart of All
Thou Purity without remorse
That pulls All, Belle Dame, to Thy Call:
Thy Knowledge and Thy Intercourse!

Thou Nothingness Personified
Renewed Perfection without end
Thou Voice of Silence that has cried
“The Arrow!” – and It rides the wind!

Thou Eros poised one point above
The Pyramid: Thou Virgin kiss!
Thy Crescent Moon; Thy Star of Love
Thy fearful Angst in the Abyss!

Mar 1961


Deeper by far
Than any Star
Deeper than the Unknown Night
The spaceworm spins its prison bar
Its casement tower, height on height
“Shell by the Abyssal Crustacea”

Alien Star
Alien Light
Shine upon our Alien Fright
Alien Sun
Alien Star
Shine upon our Prison Bar

The nematodes
In their abodes
Renew the categories
The scaly reptile in the roads
Seeks on Her Lunar glories
“Shell by the Abyssal Crustacea”

Alien Star
Alien Light
Shine upon our Alien Fright
Alien Sun
Alien Star
Shine upon our Prison Bar



When out the misty future clears
The written history of the years – – –
Across those scrolling pages laced
The fury of our storm is traced
In burnished gold – – for from the walls
Of mighty Karnaks’ carven halls
Shrill silvery bugles sound the charge!
Come, Soldier-Priests of the ancient Tharge – – –
Arise ye Templars of the Graal
Send forth the ringing challenge – – Hail
The rebirth of the Laws of Pan
Reclaim your heritage and span
The waiting world. That which effaced
Our holy cause must be erased
With fiery sword and lifted rod
The mystic symbol of our God!
And when the dawn proclaims the day
Then may the crawling Christians pray.

So spake the Prophet of the Glen
Unto the Brotherhood of Men.

Thus it came that as the aeons crept or fled the spirit grew;
Out of elemental substance foamed the hot and potent brew.

Foamed and spewed in theurgic rhythm, roared a thundering litany;
Molded from its psychic forces our enshrined epiphany!

Stood our pantheon incarnate vesting full the Will of Man,
Glowing in its royal splendor, filling the imperial plan.

Brooded then within the mountains.
From the parks, between the fountains
Came a cyclone funnel roiling,
Holy, sacred Nago coiling
Rearing high the hydra hood
Which sign and token of the Rood
Guards with his canopy the Priest,
Our Lord of Lords, our King – – – THE BEAST!

Now our champion before us
Striking in the sight of Horus
Down into the valley swinging;
With a surging timbre ringing
Bright battle axe and arcing sword
Slash in and through the serried horde
Of those who thought to bound their hope
Within their own small meagre scope.

Hooves of thunder are a pealing
Roll as back they stagger reeling
From the black mailed Knights of Heiro,
Adepts of the station zero,
Sit their steeds of mighty thew
Swing out and then come shearing thru
To criss and cross behind these cattle
Stampeding from the shock of battle!

So mote it be!

Ho the rebels
Hail the carnage,
See the piles of stinking slain
Where the Christians met their Masters
South of Ulan, on the plain.

So in triumpal procession march the Lords of Karnak back
Tie their wounds and burn their dead before their bloody arms they stack.

As in wild and joyous revelry carillon and cymbals ring
Giving homage to our chosen Gods and glory to our King.

For on the littered plain this day was cleared an ancient wrong
The infidels were made to pay and yield unto the strong.

Yea, ruthless as the cleansing sea we crushed the Christian might
And now they lie enslaved before our revered Gods of Night!

What mortal man can do to Man they did unto our sires
But we, immortal, gathered strength from sacrifical fires.

Reincarnated stand the host that bridged the gulfs of time
Avenging what the Church of Rome had poisoned in its prime!

We honored not a craven slave
But followed one who deigned to brave
And tread the curving, star strewn path
Beyond our universe, the wrath
Of Chaos slumbered, to our sight
The darkness sheds eternal light.

Now to the joyous sacrifice
As cringing heathens pay the price
By dozens and the hecatomb
They taste the justice that was Rome
Upon our altars, as we feast
And give ovation to the Priest
Whose slashing knife unstops a flood
Of living, heady, salted blood
To overflow the hallowed cup
The Chalice held that we may sup
The symbol of eternity;
Our union, our fraternity
Of mind and body, soul and thought —-
Our one is all, our ALL is nought!



Were I a high and mighty God
Who never had to pant and plod
Along one straight and narrow way
I’m sure I’d want to run and play
Across the ordered fields of stars
And scatter them with jolts and jars
Then swing upon the chandeliers
Of clustered suns, to tweak the ears
Of other Gods who might be nigh
Within the vast and empty sky.

Then, where these chandeliers are hung,
Down from the arching rafters swung
That roof the curving universe
I’d stop awhile and there converse.
With much ado and apish wit
I’d seat myself and there I’d sit
To state my views and eloquize
With those who would philosophize
Upon the broad celestial view;
Or pitch a bit of apish woo.



My mind is as bleak as the steppes of the Moon
And as cold as the Uranian air
My heart is as hot as the brightside noon
Exploding in a solar flare
And with the lion love of my fiery boon
I burn in Her glorious hair

The galaxies
Are Arrow-Trees
Plumed by Maat’s bright feather
Our Maid’s fierce love’s
A glowing see
That holds the worlds together



Dead wood limbs of psychic yearning
Winging sparrow
Singing arrow
Star bright sun of Theban Pharaoh
Phoenix turning
Dragon burning

Gothic manse in matrix narrow
Lotus learning
Senses spurning
Quantum penetrate discerning
Stinging barrow
Ringing harrow



Live your life, nor seek to know
Why scream the dead, the grass will grow
Luxuriantly, taste of love
And trouble not for knowledge, glove
Your senses with the wine of Pan,
Let him lead you where he can
Thru woodland to the bacchanal,
There hide you from the fetid pall
Of reason. He who binds
The secret of arcanum finds
That which is truth, and which its foe
And he must live yet must he know
Why scream the dead below — below —-



Come, my friend
I grow weary of this ceaseless bickering
Speak not of justice, or that right reward
Well bought with human sweat, and lost.
Blind Libra stands a pawn, her scales
Are pendulums to every vagrant wind of fate
That blows in choppy gusts about her feet
And she, swaying upon her limber pedestal
Stands drunk and giddy in the gale.
We are young
In this, our span of life, have not begun
That which must find its end
In some far future aeon
And whose beginning was
Before the time of Adam, yet
We have this present life to live
It must be full, in what we do
Completion of each act must be
Fulfillment of our basic will,
In this I charge you strongly
Be true unto thine self in all that is
If aught would find you lacking let it be
Bright steel on which to prove thy worth
And know, that by this test are all things known.
And now
As swinging stars that graze and strain apart
To leave a wreckage torn and hot between
I would there were an end to this as sharp and quick
As knives in the darkness that have made
A decision, the one way or the other.



With all the creeds from wich to pick
how can I tell wich one to chose?
Or upon which my faith to stick,
This is a game one shouldn’t loose!

Now Kipling sez that should we fall,
Gehenna’s Portal open wide.
Aw, he’s just kidding us, that’s all.
Hmm, I don’t feel so good inside.

Mohamet sez that when we bow
And tread down to the many-names,
Lilith is there to stroke our brow
And feed us to the licking flames!

The greatest show of all is here,
Just step right up, Gents and Ladies.
A one-way ticket, paid with beer,
Takes you to the Land of Hades.

Now when our time has come to roll,
Will we descend to ring the bell
Of the bottomless pit of Sheol
Or the Urdeutsch — Frozen Gates of Hell?

To live a jolly life is fun,
I pay the preacher to be worried.
Perhaps I’ll wish I’d made no pun
When it is me who’s being buried!

BALLAD OF THE SPACEMAN'S WOE (The Star Hopper's Sad Sack)

You’ll never know what you can do
Until you crack that sky of blue
And feel the dark space ‘wash of you
You’ll never, never know.

And in that vast sidereal sweep
Your old star-bucket’s cosmic creep
Will take you to strange worlds and reap
The commerce that they grow.

Of iron and ore there is no dearth
Or metals all for what they’re worth
To build fleets for Imperial Earth
The giant ships a’row.

And if there should be anyone
From Pluto’s rim to farthest sun
Who doesn’t like what we have done
They know where they can blow.

For Earth’s Galactic Empire knows
No combination of her foes
Who could our great Grand Fleets oppose
Out in the ether flow.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A spaceman’s life is hard indeed
Without there ever being need
For war with any alien breed
To give the spaceman woe.

There was a time when we were told
The new trans-stellar drive would hold
A warp in space that we could fold
From here to there, like so.

And then what did those Brass Hats do?
They said, “That’s just the thing for you
And on these ships your jolly crew
Can sail forever!” Oh.

And that’s the reason why, you see,
No farthest nook of space is free
From our inquiring scrutiny
Above or down below

But I would rather take my tuck
Aboard a creaking freighter truck
Than try a Flying Dutchman’s luck,
Oh moan the spaceman’s woe.

On Ganymede I met a chick
Built like a certain house of brick,
‘Twas then I said, ‘Right here I’ll stick
And never, never go.”

And right there I sat up my shack
And would have stayed until the crack
Of Doom, but I was shanghaied back
Oh, hear a sailor’s woe.

Oh, bend an elbow, lend an ear
And gather round so all may hear
The story of a life so drear
Oh hear the spaceman’s woe.

A thousand years are but a day
Asleep aboard the “Cosmic Ray”
And so we snooze our years away
Such is the spaceman’s woe.

And if we die out in the deep
There’s none to wail and none to weep
Our bones are in dry space to keep
Oh hear our tale of woe.

Or if we’ve been too long in space
We foul our jets and then they place
Us in a ship for Earth, Prime Base,
And tie us up like so.

But after one year in the crate
We’re glad to grab a sky-bound freight
To let our nerves recuperate
Oh hear the spaceman’s woe.

And when our rest has just begun
The long-haul trans-galactic run
Will need replacements, everyone,
And off again we’ll go.

And what will this time be our fate?
A robot brain to navigate
To make of us more meteor bait
Oh play the dirge strains slow.

Or else we’ll foul on piracy
As cruel as ever on the sea
They’ll hull us with incendiary
And out our air will blow.

In sagas of the spaceways old
The tale of woe is often told
About the ‘A-CH-ING hero bold
In days of long ago.

Who streaked his racing comet where
The methaned moons of Jupiter
Could grab him by his shortened fur
And end him up a glow.

And that is why ’tis often told
“There’s heroes old and heroes bold,
But heroes bold are never old.”
Oh drown our tale of woe.



With streaming costume of the dance,
And slanting in as tho to lance
The precessioning worlds that creep,
Our prima donna’s comet sweep
Slips the grasp of the mighty sun,
Whose armored might of gold is spun,
And leaps again far into space.
The sun is chained and gives no chase
Tho never is his love forgotten ——-

Ephemeral, star-begotten!
Music of the gravitic lutes
Shape elliptical convolutes
To which pirouetting planets whirl,
And as their satellites they twirl
About them, here match their ego
To this skirling, high allegro.
Each harp of closed concentric rings
Draws from its humming, weaving strings
A cosmic rhythm; savage drums
Pound the ecliptic plane! It thrums
And molds one all-embracing whole —
A living universe! A soul!



In Metz the German dead lie stacked
Beneath the quiet snow
Along the railroad tracks – a wracked
And grotesque iron row
Between the trees – and where the packed
Wire brambles twist and grow.

Their wooden cheeks are dark with stain
Hoarfrost has iced their hair
Their broken bodies, shrunk with pain
Claw upwards in despair –
The fortress City of Lorraine
Is guarded by their stare.

The ghouls have had their business way
Among these frozen dead
Some stripped of boots – some with their grey
Ring fingers clipped instead
And some have even been the play
Of dogs – who must be fed.

These are the vaunted “Waffen Korps”
The cold embalms so well —
God – damn their souls forevermore
And may they rot in Hell!
We wanted Peace, they wanted War
So leave them where they fell.



Mother Medusa of the solar wind
Lion paw and lambent thigh
Love-lightning playing in your hair
Has blinded me, and I am thine.

Mother Medusa, lion cubs
Come tumbling through your amber dream.
I hear you purr with a throat of iron
And your growl in the slap of thunder.



We saw them coming high, that dawn,
     Their silver wings aflame
With morning sunlight, driving on,
     In endless streams they came —-
They filled all heaven with the spawn
     Of dragon-seed and fame.
Beyond the hard-won beach, their sound,
     Beyond St. Mere Eglise
They opened bomb-bays over ‘Trond
     Then spilled their cargo free —
Concussion rolled and rocked the ground
     From St. Lo to the sea.
The sky fell in that summer’s day
     On friend as well as foe
And good men died to pry a way
     For tanks, who stole the show —
Smashing hard on a line-drive play
     That broke us through St. Lo.



It is cold within the nether skies;
Yet I flow thru the darkness streaming
Down to where, in stupor dreaming,
Lies a child-bed woman screaming
As her labor bursts her thighs.

There is blood and pain and — there it lies!
With a frightened passion churning
In my soulless body burning
Vortex of unholy yearning
Gaze I on the sightless eyes.

Then, just ere the infant’s natal cries
Ring out into the still, black morning
With its fright and lethal warning,
Time and space of matter scorning
Sheath I in this new disguise!

Thus it is that none of Fairey ever dies.
Tho the sacrament be spoken
With the eucharist for token
It is so they may be broken
By the art the elfin plies.



Morning, noon and night you’ll find
One place the Mason Men don’t mind
To gather and to do their share,
As chow-hounds they have no compare,
In taking sustenance and vim.
There is no place or food for him
Who would be dainty with his mess,
From which it’s not so hard to guess
Why we do say and advocate
This motto for the “Cup & Plate”,
“When using forks we do insist
You must not spike above the wrist!”



Along the winding city street
The dusty convoys roll,
Across the downs a laden fleet
Is roaring to its goal —
We’re hauling bombs that will defeat
The Boche — we take our toll.

The boys who wheel bomb laden trucks
Through blinding English fog
Or claw their way in six wheel drive
Across the Burma bog
With nothing for protection
From the strafing bombers dive
Are just as much our heroes
As the boys who lead the drive.

Have we ever tasted battle?
Do we lose our share of men?
Our dead line Stuka Valley
On the road to Kasserine!

Do we stop for mud or mountain?
Do we need the Engineers?
We build our road and flat-top
Where there are no Hairy Ears!

What if the map is hopeless
And the fog as grey as slate?
We roll those trucks on schedule
For the Bomber Boys can’t wait!

It takes more than being reckless —
It takes more than gift of gab —
When there’s five ton of explosive
Riding right behind the cab

And that box of fuses sitting
Right beside you on the seat —
But “Operations” doesn’t give
Its medals to this fleet!

So we do our job in silence
Giving service to the line —
We roll by day, we roll by night
We roll come rain or shine —

And when the road’s a target?
Rack ‘er back and let ‘er buck!
Through hell and high explosive
Rolls the Quartermaster Truck!

Then when we’re through to “Bomber”
We can stop and take a rest —
Behind the wheel as like as not
May “Operations” be — unblessed!

And we dream of trucker’s heaven
Where the wheeling convoys roll
On paving blocks of marble ——
Where there is no mud or toll

Where the Jerry planes are never
And the highway’s broad and straight —-
Just dynamite that throttle
And we’ll highball through that gate!

Till we ‘wake to hit the trailway
And shuttle back for more,
Ours is a job that’s never done;
Until the war is o’er
We’re in there rolling with the punch —
The Quatermaster Corps!



I am the Commando
I have neither Father, nor Mother
Nor Sister, nor Brother
I was born to kill ——
And death is my destiny – for I am expendable

We are the varied Legions of the Doomed
By shadow light of night we storm the shore
And break, to spume the beach with bloody gore
Against the emplaced cannon – and the roar
Of strafing aircraft sluicing down the loomed
Embroidered traceries of flaming shell –
Whose cry the monstrous bat of nether hell
Would answer as the mating call – and dwell
Among the new cut dead not yet entombed.

I am the Commando
My Father burned in lakes of flaming oil
Blown from a tankers’ crushed, torpedoed bowels
I was born to kill ——
And death is my destiny, for I am expendable

We are the varied Legions of the Damned
Out of the night our barges loom and spill
The implements of war — the shadows kill
With lightening stab — then fade into the still
Black dawn that rings the Fortress — and the jammed
Troop-transport planes have sown their deadly capes
While bombers dive — with slitted mouth that gapes
To drip its poison on the beast who apes
The upright form of Man — We are the damned.

I am the Commando
My Mother’s bruised and mangled body bore
The mute and silent testament of rape
I was born to kill ——
And death is my destiny — for I am expendable

We are the varied legions of the Doomed
By shadow light, etc.

I am the Commando
My Sister’s body lies in bloody shreds
Where bombs have torn it limb from shattered limb
I was born to kill ——
And death is my destiny — for I am expendable

We are the varied Legions of the Damned
Out of the night, etc.

I am the Commando
In some mass grave my only Brother keeps good
With those long crucified upon the Iron Cross
I was born to kill ——
And death is my destiny – for I am expendable

We are the varied Legions of the Doomed
By shadow light, etc.

I am the Commando
I have neither Father, nor Mother
Nor Sister, nor Brother
I was born to kill ——
And death is my destiny – for I am expendable

Amen (chorus)



Into a bowl of deepest night it peers
And probes the utmost reaches of the vast
Eternal marches of the suns — to cast
With esoteric glyphs the path of years.

Steel forg’d prongs grip fast the adamant,
And jumbled crags of charred obsidian
Strew close the base where — twined ophidian —
The space washed girders gleam and twist aslant.

And to this rock – this death-bound airless world —
It seems the tomb of Gods whose questioned Why
Has stripped them of their lone divinity

Come strange marked men who seek a knowledge furled
In deeper space — who train this monstrous eye
To gaze forever. On infinity.