Monday, April 9, 2018

2018 8/30

PHENEX. - The Thirty-Seventh Spirit is Phenex (or Pheynix). He is a great Marquis, and appeareth like the Bird Phoenix, having the Voice of a Child. He singeth many sweet notes before the Exorcist, which he must not regard, but by-and-by he must bid him put on Human Shape. Then he will speak marvellously of all wonderful Sciences if required. He is a Poet, good and excellent. And he will be willing to perform thy requests. He hath hopes also to return to the Seventh Throne after 1,200 years more, as he said unto Solomon. He governeth 20 Legions of Spirits. And his Seal is this, which wear thou, etc

The burning house rebuilds itself in the dark.
Crawls back up from ash and mud
and the ghost-ship windows
of 1368 norfolk
light up the crazily tilted mailbox
the ditch, the gravel half moon drive
the mushroom rotten bench

inside, the rusted piano wires
unburn to bright silver
tune themselves,
play “beautiful dreamer”
in ponderous time
play “shall we gather at the river”

the crowd of radios sing hosannas
to be back from the dark,
the flame crawls back into the electrical outlets
and coils to sleep inside the Cathode ray tubes
and welding tanks
the rags unrot and sinuously writhe on the bedroom floors

the old papers and glass, the sewing machines and mattresses
the washers and dryers and a hundred kirby vacuums, the broken mirrors
crawl out of the catfish pond
and slink across the grass

rank kitchen of moss covered pots
the bones of a thousand mice
My old jacket with the silver-sprayed Anarchy sign
my rain-warped Rembrandts pulled from the garbage
my golden fish swim in their drawer
my weed, my bottle rockets, my Jack Daniels

pepto pink walls and dog-smelling carpet worn thin
inside, I am dead, and singing.

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