There is no place in here.
No moment. No familiar semblances.
The mind forms here being concerned with nothing
that's not ultimately, mind itself.
The shapes here have no correspondence in the formal world.
They are the shape of Yevtushenko's poems,
Chopan's etudes, Goerdel's math.
Here in these incoherent oceans of unmolded possibility,
systems of thought provide the only landmass.
Theory and belief are all we have to walk upon,
where language is a shellswept beach,
where algebra's an endless ghostly boulevard.

Suspended in this glimmering continuum,
islands of supposition, continents of paradigm,
tides of opinion lap in fabulous lagoons of proof
bringing a slow erosion, gradual change of contour.
Here, the shifts in understanding are tectonic,
dyastrophic rumbles in the core,
volcanoes of rennaisance threatening to spit
their heat and gold to cover all the world
with their bright dangerous precipitations.
Smots ((19)) of change and novelty unrinsible
borne on the jetstreams of cold inspiration.

The depths are soundless, off the map,
there is no sextant that will read the constellations here,
yet are there hazards, undertows of falsehood,
eddies of delusion in the bedlam reefs,
riding elated swirls of reason.
Bear in mind that nothing is unsinkable.
The palmcord orchestra plays on,
beneath these fogbanked ambiguities rear intellectual icebergs.

No paranoid Magellan named these straits,
autistic Heyerdahl or thorazined cabal
the toothpicked scums of shattered coracle ((21)) and surfs of splinter
stitch the white caps to these slick gray shores,
with here and there the footprint
of some prior explorer, inmate or philosopher.
Beyond a ribboned shingle of assumption shifting dunes of creed,
there is the scorched airwiff of a synaptic ozone,
spindrift, gusted from cerebral spinal tropics.
Underfoot, a tiedline ((22)) litter of rejected notions,
wormshot timbres from wrecked ideologies, dicredited beliefs.
In reason's rockpores ((23)) see a ferning coral of dead faeries.

Above, strong light bursts out through solid cystic cumuli.
The dazzle of near comprehension, leaves a gibberish
of phosphorouscent scribble on the psychic retina.
Over these beachheads of corpus callosum,
strung between two hemispheres,
their burns an equatorial sun of fact and data.
Best not risk the information tan
that brings disfiguring bikini lines of ignorance
or worse the sunstroke of religion.
Make for shade. The treeline looms ahead.
Pull back the snarled anxiety of bramble and plunge ego first,
into the undergrowth. Miasmal thicket darkness here,
its chill immediate. Press on.
Thorned snags of dogma tearing at the ankles
out into the sudden dappled bright ((*)).
The eerie crossbreeze of a clearing.
The atmosphere here corruscates,
thick with impending diamond.
Through the spikelit ((*)) blur
an intimation of delirium's foliage clipped back
ordered into a Magritte ((*)) topiary.
Now a bordered path,
redolence ((25)) of park and arbor,
windchime scent of honeysuckle,
with each step, a burgeoning of form, a greater density.
Belatedly, the thought occurs:
What life might this ethereal clime support?
ecologies of ectoplasm? And what Flora? And what Fauna?
The air here crackles, viscous and intense, humid with meaning.
The posited terrain grows steeper,
rising up towards the domed pavillions of the specter garden,
flickering radiance of its exhibits brushed across the sky ahead.
Struggle up slope the last few yards become a headlong rush
into the raw mouth of this brilliant wind.

The Spectre Garden: The Enochian Angel Of The 7th Aethyrs

The Specter Garden, neon railed, surrounds us.
Its mind animals displayed.
Before us is the habitat of an Enochian Angel.
Summoned first by Edward Kelly in the Sixteenth Century,
whose utterances terrified the Seer
that afterwards abandoned magic.
Now, at our approach, a quickening of ultraviolet,
shivering veil-shape, womanness upon the brink of form,
solidify her, name her, call her,
Beyaletche, Beyaletche...

VOLTAR