Lorenzo Buford
I stand on the mountain in the netherworld.
I stand with turtle rattle to summon the Ancient.
I lay in the flesh, this tomb,
my selves from other lives
are the nine mourners;
And my room is no longer my dwelling
the tomb, my other womb.
I am watching from inside myself.
I am the black moon.
The wolves are howling
at the door of churches.
I am the black sun;
I am the black cloud that carries thunder;
And bolts of lightning flashes across my inner landscapes.
My other selves bring the grape
that will make the wine that will
make me intoxicated so I can witness the Invisibles.
My third eye opens so that I may not
walk blindly in the outer darkness.
Anubis stands behind me
as I walk out of my skull.
He leads me across the abyss
as I am now the Osirian
and I join the Ancients
to prepare for the last battle with Chthonian forces
who still hold my other names in their mouths
that they animate as other humans.
I am the One Who Has Become The Many.
The gods who are human access
The inner worlds that are within me.
I stand in the space between the worlds.
As if nothing happen when another dark vampiric god leaves me lying
In a bed with my body shaped like a question mark,
It is another day, coffee grows cold in my eyes
My hands are weeping as I string paper stars across my door
Hang my liquored breathe on the balcony to get air and
Strangers' footsteps left yellowish stains on my sheets
So I look at my reflection in pillowcases to see if I changed
While witnessing the lightning flashing in this pillow cloud
As this vampire god ties up the lose webbing, his hair;
He leaves a summons for my parasitic judge to weigh my heart
And tells me he will not allow the flowering of mud,
But he closes his eyes to himself that was not held in a hand
And with a single eye rolled a stone over the opening of caves
Spinning into his direction, to silence the ghost seeking a new tomb,
So I go sit in a rocking chair by a window
Looking at the whores dropping their pants for semen dreams
While picking the scales off my flesh, maybe the next god
Cuming will not recognize me naked
As I, wait upon the character to name me,
The twilight of the gods demand my body upon satin sheets.
This body, this tomb, a sarcophagus
Am I, to hold the death of gods
And as if nothing happened, a disembodied voice whispers,
"I am a shadow" and another summons falls on my bed,
like a feather, another lien and mortgage has been placed on me.
The demiurge looked upon itself and cast out its reflection,
Its shadow, not knowing it was its savior
And it's shadow with its serpentine form
Laid waste upon the Demiurge's creation
And being slaughtered by the son of the demiurge
Its body became the foundation of the Demiurge's newest creation
Yet, not knowing its shadow didn't die
But is the shadow, the unconscious
Within its new creation
Sleeping at the base of the tree
Awaiting to awaken/
This slumbering fire, this smoldering darkness
When awakens, turns in upon itself
And burns bright as it rises,
Climbing the tree
To eat of the fruit that awaits
In the topmost branch
And once again, what was consumed in the beginning
Will be the First who is last.
He fears my beginning, my end
My mouth, my anus
The black kiss,
The journeying into the slumbering unconscious
He thinks my face is a plate to hold offerings
So his profanity he offers, I abstain from his touch
Yet he thinks his smell will intoxicate me
But my face is not a place to rest
It's autonomous
It is humble
But he wants my face to lead him from his blindness
If I don't say my name
No one looks at me.
I am invisible.
I am a ghost haunting someone's comfort.
But if I say my name,
I am placed upon a mantle;
I am celebrated between lips;
I am imprisoned between thighs; and
I am sentenced in religions to dead gods.
If I say my name,
Than someone has me in the palm of their hand
So their instincts may be like the salt I am.
Yet I hold my name in me, in a silence
And give them secretions collected
From thoughts seeking existence;
Yet they are determine to hold my name
And give me that monolithic stare
And I lose my radiance again.
He doesn't know his touch so he curses me with it.
He is a work against nature.
Will he poison me from my neglect of his nature?
Have I not been chained to long upon the rocks within his mind?
NEXT: Neglected Gods
More Information? - please contact Lorenzo Buford.