Remove your clothes, quickly do it, is the time. Put this veil scrawled with gold threads on, rapidly, is no time To discard. The grotto is briefly wide open, As your mother’s spread out legs at your eruption; Blood splashed and mingled with clear fluids and ache, Counted in trickling drops of toil and spasms Of tormented pushing. Step, step ahead, is the exact juncture for ‘on the hoof’ acts. There is no arbiter to weight down your vacillations, The balance is on glitch, Don’t evaluate yourself in hesitations. The boat is pharaonic, titanium hammered in its gunwale. Do not stumble on its enclosing roses, the thorns Have not been removed, the clotted gore is spurted poison From the reckless ones. Maintain your virtuous perspective. Open your mouth, the garland of pinpricks is bittersweet as A medicine, swallow it as if nondescript potion. You do need it, is the precondition to resist the apostasy. We can’t afford a friable imprimatur, you are in whole Or hollow out. No middle ground. The bedraggled gargoyles are here To frighten off the weak ones, to lacerate their bosoms apart. Currents of corruptible quintessence, do not pay them tributes Of scrutiny and panic. Just stare beyond the gate. Did I mention? The water is filled with lethal detritus, do not drink it No matter how hard the thirst pummels your guts; They will push down inside you Laparoscopes made of divine leeches and chthonic eels If you cede, it would be a retributive salvation, Do refrain from collapse. The most important thing: ignore the protruding tendrils of testiness, Only through stoicism and compliance You will be proffered their infrangible edict. No fear, it is not toothed, is genteel and aesthetic. It is all You desired and prayed for, isn’t it? Swore by the river Styx: the sceptre of abiding gist Poured in your mawkish and lamentable, At long last venerated poems.
The photo’s source: John Roddam Spencer Stanhope [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons