Lorenzo Buford
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I am the View. He is the Living Book.
The face I wear is the Seal of Venus so open me and let me be your face as I walk in the places made by the mouth of Man. I walk into the Book. I flow into the Book. I am The Unusual. He is the Dangerous. We are The Work. Will he blow my trumpet of Venus before he is silenced and walk among the common empty-eyed people with an impotent voice? Ah, the man in the ear has become broken mirror pieces. Am I to be sexualized when I am a Stygian Sojourner until I am a dark room; and this wooly-haired Black Venus is for the naughty and nice when my companion cannot eclipse his passions. Will he let his passion own him before he is the Silence, an alchemical text? Will he be burned out of existence as he lets his hand, his mouth, his anus bring him the orgasm outside him? Will he blow the trumpet of Venus when he appears as something else? I stand in the chaotic in-between places chanting his many names to bring him into one as I open to him as a talismanic image so he can be consecrated into the First Magic. He is an indigenous follower. He enters me as alchemy. He travels the underground stream. The screech owl announces me as a riddle and a prophecy. I step out of the mirror with the Song as he becomes a throne companion to this Androgyny. I am the Dark Art. He will be struck by my thunder rod; and I will release my utterings as manna from Beyond. I will flow into him; and he will become a living tree where this phoenix will sit and be an oracle as I am seeded into him. I will not know peace until we are no longer a trinity. I am a Black Venus with an Osirian phallus. I have lain upon trees as I have laid upon lovers and have eaten their apocalypse. I have given a hunger, an infinite sadness, that I must now harvest so this weeping stone can become a Treasure of the Working. Will he blow the trumpet of Venus, become a black book companion to this Sun of the concealed Father? I am the Dark Art. |
