He did not notice
but all possible worlds
in impossible space
slid down his body;
his unconscious imagination
expanded full of light
bathing all the probable.
He without being He,
did not come to understand
his supreme rights;
his jungles of wild beings,
divinities that would take his place;
his casual crestomaty
sipping at the springs of
universal equality.
However, there were those who believed
his logorrhea, and painted their spatial bodies
in ethereal music.
It was the lyre strummed by the Cosmogonist
at the hour of astral dawn:
You, magic bard, do not stop musicking
the cosmos!
ask all the flourishing metagalactic beings.
Look at them, they are swimming there in the
pentagram
of first and last heaven.
Warm gentleness of unisons
dreams painted in elemental healing.
Small imaginers of the imaginary
spatial beauties in each amorous tone.
He used to walk
through the garden of the cosmos
with the Absolute Aurora crowning his head;
he went about watering
the flowers of the universal Soul
with light;
here, there the stars exploded silently
and
the wake of his Consciousness beyond Consciousness
was the Science of the sciences;
all star-like, all made God and light
as his bare feet.
It was the dream of Man
it was the cosmic Man made dream,
so that all could dream,
further,
good and evil,
further, being and becoming
Dawn around the head,
dusk at the feet;
and the Spirit shivering in his labile hands.
.........................................................
There in space
the Being of beings
inseminates the early morning
and all his luminescence keeps dancing
in all the magnitude of the stars
he has scattered
.......................................................................
When God was the Nothing
he was hopelessly atheistic
he could not believe it when he exploded:
when he saw his metagalactic semen
becoming stars and crossing
all frontiers,
however, he smiled;
and began to spread
his body
(outside)
the enigma
since then he keeps
swelling eggs
that drop from the depths
of his not-being
Today, now unconscious,
now denied to himself
his children perpetuate themselves
in the closest stars
that are to Him the furthest
Let us return to find ourselves,
cosmogeny, beloved:
the first and only orgasm
still beats in my body and I still
remember and it lasts in me
- says God...
No, it's not possible now
we've both been very far
we have gone beyond the stellar limits
and you are in the secret of the Nothing,
meanwhile galaxies drip from my broken hymen
and, no, the bubbles of my breasts,
have not forgotten your kisses,
but they have been dispersed in your first breath,
replies the cosmogony,
leaving the Creator
un-Made...
Now God, nature overturned,
wanders staggering
from universe to universe;
he goes about leaving pools of light in his wake
crying - falling - sobbing
all his blessed
angels
cursed;
He wants to go home, the epicycle
of the Cosmos,
to rock
in the sad arms of his old lover,
Goddess.
He did not remember his dream;
while sleeping
starry tropical vapours
came from his mouth
that seemed a dream:
it was the beginning
of God
of ourselves
of dancing totality.
The big bang?
it was his luminous ejaculation,
the Astral Dawn in which
the Creator, naked in the forest of
his Soul
flew about
and came back to rub himself laughing
the sweet lemon of the gracious Dawn...
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