Praise Chant For The Black Lotus

Frederick Mayer

Carnal knowledge of spirituality
        paroxysm succour
Holy flower snake crawls
        palpated
depths of pain
turns sounds
       succulent prowels
releasing the soul of vibrations
on sinews, of muscles engorged
And always on the fringes
of corpulent insanity
The blood finally becomes the pores
of a flayed skin
  revealing the inner self
  that counts, for when the exposed
  pales the moon concupiscence
  turns into the blood  shot  eyes
  of the mistress
Holy flora serpent loves you
               Mother-of-pearl lacerated  within its eyes within
shed your flesh, sensual sway
strip, slip muscular hips
as prancing along
animal nature born
freely, hair unulating under
no influence in the air swirling
           fragrant and enervating
slithers as in heat
The snake is nubile coursing crimson
as your viscous liquid drippings
bathed in its glory
till you are mingling of same hues
Dance, let loose Lucretius'
                 "De rerum natura"
dance floor
slide down...oh so cool in the Heat
sweat...sin becomes the fluidity
fountain head
of religion that sets you free
music pulsating into aural oral halo
baptism of the fleshy fresh and
gleaming
the spirit is nothing more than
whatever was, there is hope
upon the crucified dog, lick it
serpentine of the tongue, nipples
the eggs which must be sucked
to draw the dragon out
   and swallow whatever fluid id that
laps inside what's left of
the body offered up and
   risen blood rose
   necromantic flower
of mysterious union, there are no
screams
in this flowing feathery sprayed
streams
eddies into crown of thorns
Water these flowers of night and
sickness
give in to it, be it and stingingly
sing
the poetry pooled inside cracked
mirrors of the Soul, no longer blind
           because you don't have
anymore; blossoming,
          growing unbound
Dawn cries morning as the dried
          human leather
thongs of dark forgotten
canine
the fangs, teeth melting to ectoplasm
                             flesh
dying to the rising smoke of the
funeral pyres below that smolder know...
You are the sunrise that need
not come nor cum, for the seed
                  has been fed
beastial of all the animals
on soft parade, the living garden
                Finally, emerges l'amour  tongue lashing from bone of
fur freed puppy upon the cross
you, inside out and looped
dropped, entrail slung about,
the stem, no
the wick molten white froth
                       floating
washed free wicked did you wish
the ultimate orgasmic
black opiate poppy...
         reality's dream fullfilled
         flaccid catafalque filled
         beautiful flower bed you.

Translated from the GUMI-GAN-OK CHAEK by Koh Rei-am

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