Abstract:
Angle Duhst is a work-in-progress. An ongoing series of love poems, written for my muse, friend, and lover, El Even, the odd one. The first three chapters of Angel Duhst below were some of the very first poems I wrote to her, errr well early versions of these pieces. Most were born from text messages that poured from my melted heart in the early morning hours before heading to the lab. Song & verse absolutely spilled from my lips when she entered my life in 2023. Nothing has changed. In fact, my love for her has only grown stronger. My desire to see her completely, to know her true and honest, to watch her go, has but matured and deepened. The poetry continues to flood through my body. The words spill from my lips and flow from my fingers for her, dearest & weirdest sweet Angelamine.
I
‘Ancient Walls & A Temple of Red Light’
Crack
The first appears as she looks
up over her glasses at me.
Crick
Walls erected for protection
begin to lose their footing.
Creek
A small bit of forgotten joy
oozing out of a hairline fracture
causes the dense shell to split,
Craaact
First I See. Sight. Then sounds
Stone walls starting to Crumble.
Walls? Who commissioned them all?
The walls use?
All forgotten.
Crash
With a silent snap more stones tumble
revealing a hidden heart. Strong but fragile.
Bang
Thud
Slam
HITTING the ground near where
I lay…then…
Then the bright-liquid
red-life, pouring out
I become I, say a vow,
to become now, somehow.
Here. I still lie.
Lying still.
was it an old foundation?
Ruins of an old wall?
I am. Covered in dust & blood!
I look up then, only 2C-Her
looking down. At me,
My heart pounds, un-vision
as an unborne unsees
There is a brilliant orange
light that blinds now me
Drop
I feel it on my face now;
warm. gentle. soothing
Its now THE FIRST DAY,
the first light, but first…
Drop
I must shake the dusty blood from my body.
This rust, no its dust and is it?
Familiar? Yes.
Why? trouble remembering how I came to be.
A small memory flashes back.
A seen Scene. I’ve Seen IT saw her
I see her see me
IT Sees
Not I
I
A
wall.
A crack,
…and then….ahhhh then again.
Warm and red
Pours liquid into me.
Eyes opened-closing airways
The orange light momentarily
overtaking my vision.
Then I look to my right
and then I see her. RED & light
The brightness blinding,
the source is good I write her.
The liquid’s redness coalesces.
A beautiful face reappears.
I smile as…
I see her smile and its much,
much too large on her face….
just a giant heart & matching grin .
She’s sewn me back up again!
For what was this wall needed then?
It strains my memory to comprehend.
And the light? A Valkyrie?
Sent down to some warrior slain?
I’ve seen no battles.
No wars of pain.
No hordes were fought
No banners flown.
Perhaps then an angel, sent
down from Clouds on Nine?
But how? I do still breathe.
Please I beg…WHAT???
I think NOT that death
has reached me yet.
I hear the squeak of rats.
I see a long iridescent snake
begin winding its-elf up a tree.
The large strong tree trunk is familiar.
It has planted strong roots.
Reaching deeper.
It has a soft bark,
small folds… no. wrinkles!
Then I becomes I.
It’s skin, blood, branch.
Roots; then before I,
is thy my Angel
Must I prepare to rise too?
Skyward? Home?
but no. She means to set me
back down. Gently.
Down from protective Trees
In high grass with the bees
Down into unknowns seas
Water washing stone
at my feet, now..
I am alone
I am no we
Again
Am
I
?
Plants rustling nearby as I write a note
a pleasant fragrance on the breeze.
Alive again?
Alone, not I.
Yes.
The walls no longer needed,
I lay down my spear and shield
And she twines around me.
Gasp
A rush of air fills my lungs.
This is Life.
Escaping? No.
Its rushing back!
She continues to wrap her arms
around me.
Then I no longer feel it.
Apoptosis?
No.
Mitosis?
Not this.
Then she is painted on my body.
Then I on hers.
We look into each others eyes
And we continue bleeding into one another.
Then she whispers,
“Walls are for prisons my dear.”
The final verse of her spell
I awake here in my bed,
in my newly formed body. I turn
to find nothing, or is it everything?…
there is? All of creation somehow
here in her, or is it in me?
I no longer can feel a difference .
Strange stones lay scattered beside me.
I do that which seems natural
and build a small temple to her.
A suitable place in which I give thanks.
Not made of stone, for stone is cold.
Nor on that ancient plain where they
might fall crumbling in ruins.
I build the small temple in my heart.
Its Eternal.
Filled with blood and red light,
Not infernal.
Warm fragrances issue forth,
A beacon.
A Call to worship
I answer with a call
as I reach out to her.
Amino
Angeliquor
Angelamine
Age of ALL
Drop
Drop
Drop
II
‘The First Morning‘
I feel a soft brush as it strokes my face.
The hair of each bristle glides across my wet cheek
Oil and water begin to color me.
Another stroke and my second heart breaks
My soft warm blood-filled compass
feels freedom as the clay crumbles
and the needle spins round to north again.
The nitrogenous, oxygen-laced gas surrounds
the small red engine in my chest.
Familiar?
foreign?
it’s very difficult to determine.
It permeates everything.
I can’t escape its touch.
The soft perfume is drawn into my lungs
by another stroke of her brush.
One more strong pull of her hand.
A whisper
I struggle to hear.
Pointless until,…
She paints my ears with her words
The hissing gas.
The first sound.
The hissing gas.
The first song.
The hissing gas.
I no longer remember.
The first music.
Proceeds the beginning.
The first stone.
Proceeds the wall.
Bubbling up from the hot
pressurized deepness, slowly
cooled over millions of years,
the stones fell in love with oxygen.
Before flowers.
Before the large lizards
that bathed in the light above the trees.
Before the trees.
A sweet cologne coughed up
by the planets first inhabitants.
In love with each other,
the gas and stone merge.
A child is born.
It crumbles to the cavern’s floor.
Before the first Wooly Rhino
Offers its flesh to feed her children.
Before the first hairs from its hide
Are collected and bound.
She made her first brush
She visits the cavern
Scoops up the dust.
In silence.
A million years pass
as she’s sings the next verse to me.
Then a bridge.
Long.
But easy to traverse.
Another verse and my eyes open.
Or is it my heart that now sees?
It’s not important.
Color has no relevance in dreams.
Conveys no information.
Holds no weight.
Offers no insight.
She draws her brush
across my chest with another verse.
Crack.
A small rusty tear runs down
the stretched canvas of my face,
It drys and crumbles into a fine red powder.
She collects that too.
Into her pouch of Magick it’s placed.
Gently.
She knows just what it’s for.
She sees just what must be done.
She smiles up at me over silica,
boron, and something made
of ancient lifeforms,
something forgotten
forgotten even by the ancestors
of the short-nosed elephants.
Another verse fills the air.
Gently I draw another first breath.
A terrible fate awaits.
There.
Do you see it?
Just behind that large tree.
Do you see?
Large oversized teeth gleaming
in the African dusk. Covered
with what will become the first words.
Lyrics to a song she sings many years from now.
A mind more aware than we.
Educated over terrible amounts of time.
Quicker, Stronger, more Clever
Sharp black claws that threaten
separation.
Flesh from bone.
Her from me.
Me from the world.
The first and final ending to all stories.
The silence of her absence is hard to bare.
Then another verse
drop drop drops from her
rain soaked lips and…
A warm golden spell pours over me.
She gives birth at that exact moment.
Mother to the first spells.
The first Magick any man will know.
It has a different name.
But the meaning is the same.
There is only one true word in the world anyway.
Regardless of how many lips learn to speak it.
Another verse
and her power grows.
More familiar.
Also less.
Its creative power lies
in its ability to destroy.
No teeth or claws stand a chance.
First encountered as we cautiously
descended from the trees. When first
we stood on just two legs to see above
There in the strange new grasslands
we turned to look into each other eyes
and for the first time we held hands.
It’s the first morning again.
It’s always the first morning.
There is no evolution.
There is no such thing as time.
It’s always only ever been…
The first morning.
It’s the first time. Now
It happens only once you know.
That is what makes it true.
It’s the first time. Again.
I squint my eyes.
It’s the first time. I see
The glow
It’s the first time. I see
The light
It’s the first time. I see
The flowers
It’s the first time. I see
The difference.
It’s the first time. I see
The…
Drop Drop
Drop
There is. No Thing.
Again
The first morning.
Again
The first flower.
Again
The first rain.
Again
There is. One Thing.
Drop
Drop Drop
For the first time. It falls
For the first time. It’s named.
For the first time. It grows.
I open my mouth and drink.
The first rain hits the dry clay of the earth
And the flowers near her feet explode with scent
It is
the
first morning
Again
It is.
the
first rain.
Again
You are
the first woman
Again
It is.
the
first morning.
Again
The first kykeon. Consumed
The first secret. Whispered.
The first elixir. Prepared.
The first temple. Erected.
The first psychopomp. Born
As
You
Drink
I see
through your eyes,
I feel
through your heart.
The last kykeon. Prepared.
The last secret. Told.
The last elixir. Consumed.
The last temple. Demolished.
The last psychopomp. Dies
We are
together
We are
the temple
We are
The light
We are
The morning
Then as
it falls
We are
The rain
We are
the flowers
There are
no walls
There
never
were
It is
Always
The first morning
Again.
III
‘Angelamine’
From which sphere then does
such a loverly being descend?
What ancient earthen land would
create such talent and beauty?
How did you escape?
What does a land do now in your absence?
Does it rejoice in its lonely abode?
Does it thrill in your pilgrimage west,
or does it sulk in the beauty now subtracted from its whole?
The mother and father of such greatness
must surely be proud, having divined the
only name suitable for such a child.
Angela Angela Angela.
Name of she who left the wing-ed
ones in their clouds of light.
Is she the cause of heaven’s war?
Is she the reason heaven spilt?
Was it she in the garden that night,
who bit the apple and set man free?
How is it that I find myself here
with a marvelous being such as thee?
Perhaps I slumber, still in my bed?
Is it all just a dream inside my head?
And what will be should I awake?
Will I find the world false and fake?
And should I wish to sleep instead,
which drugs could keep me here?
In her arms, held close and near?
The Elixir of love have I found in she?
Or is it she that dreams of me?
When she awakens will I still be?
Am I the apple?
Will her bite free me?
Or will I find that love is her art.
no cellulose & graphite, I just a part?
I clutch my bed still wishing not to wake,
For love in the end is only what you make.
My mind a light. My fingers a-twirl.
This rare beauty an entire world.
Words flooding out as I lie here in bed,
My flask boils over like my heart and my head.
Ahhh these feelings mixed up; reacted,
refluxed, and again extracted.
All done with care.
Rare is the beauty of her,
and both terrible and fair.
Drop
Drop
Drop “Another?” She asks.
As I look in her eyes and drop drop from my flask.
Each drop
drops a whisper.
Each drop
drips in her ear.
Each drop
drips a
drop of my love,
spoken softly my dear.
IV
‘‘Village of Temples’
An entire village of temples
Made of stones
from ancient walls
With mortar of synaptic sinew
and contracting heart threads.
Giving off a deep low hum
and glowing a rich warm red
Except just before dawn and
After strong thunderstorms
When it shows as a deep orange
Each temple is dedicated
To one of her infinite attributes.
Beauty. Creation. Psychopomp. Fire.
The receiver of grace. Gentle & Soft
Worshipped with truth, service & love.
Snake-nuns. Clown-Rats.
Space-bums. Clergy-Cats.
Mo-Hawk, no-hawk
Dreadlocked, butch-chopped.
Many forms, The Most-Faceted One.‘
V
‘Each Temple its Own Color’
Each temple its own color
Each stone its own shade
Brilliant frescos depicting her life’s trials.
Fighting the old bird goddess
Slaying the gorgon queen
Depetrification of stoned revelers
Brought back to this life
With a spreading smiled wisdom
(Occasionally much to large for her face)
Multicolored purgings, and a clown nose.
Two weeks in the arid desert
Praying for rain, then dew, then…
Worse than blue. Worse than gray even
All becomes brown, or tan, or…
devoid not only of color, but creativity.
Still faith tells me to proceed.
Do not give in, but push on
Try again, become reborn
Die again if needed.
But do not acquiesce.
VI
‘So many colors‘
When she arrives
Each of the familiar hues
splinters into a prismatic
spectra of its own
A thousand times
a thousand different greens
Solid colors become patterned
with subtle changes
Saturated whites
become rainbowed fractals
Bright red lights
warm auras of orange
But when she turns away
only is there blue and gray
VII
‘Love Retuns’
A calm excitement every time I see her name,
or find myself just near her,
or just see her picture smiling back at me.
The one in bed under the covers.
Her eyes smiling nearly as wide as her grin.
I sink into those beautiful brown eyes.
Deep
Caring
Skilled in many arts.
Wisdom beyond her years.
But what really gets me is her open heart
The way she loves me.
I go to speak, and only verse and songs spill out.
My mouth waters,
my eyes water,
I need water
And as I turn to face her
She’s there
Drip
Drip
Drip
Like the first ocean.
The first rains
My thirst dissipates
But her lightning catches me
Unprepared,
Her electric touch shocks my system
My being surges
My life comes rushing back!
Was I dead
Color floods my vision
Red, warm red light
Orange, my heart glows orange
My heart explodes
And she scoops me up into her arms
Here I stay
Here I find everything
I didn’t know was missing
Here I find
A completeness
Wholesome
Again
It takes at least two
to feel Oneness
I reason
Then
I laugh
Then
The love returns
I melt into a small puddle
and then once again,
She collects IT all
For some wise new
Magic
of an Old forgotten
Spell
It WORKS!
She, IS
Thee
I am
She
she
ME
we
B
I
❤️
U
∞
Only Friends are Real
Embrace Shulgin-ness
DON’T SCARE THE HORSES
DO BETTER!
≈Ω≈
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