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First verse-embryos.  Fantastic spirits

     from sinister witchcraft.

(Sober idiots! Idiot poets!)

     And the nadir: sober poets; two-legged horse's whatsits the lot of them…)

Thus did the maker awaken to his own creativity,

and the ever-ongoing psychedelic dervish-dance gave birth to things akin to poems.

 

A work of art: wizardry. (Even the word is hard,

     hears, feels. Embodied Akasha-wing.)

     The fifth in four, in forms the agent that lays bare

          everything.

 

(Spasm epitaphs, fake Morgenstern gallows-songs,

in the crumbling-decaying

divine witchcraft of the flesh… Incidentally, I have been

a "body-washer- poet" to this day…)

 

But the immovable has stirred;

     the assassin-vigilance of ecstatic jihad.

To face the multitudes!

 

Creation is the revolution of the Chosen One.

 

 

 

 

 

                                                        Translated by Leslie A. Kery