The Mesmerist

by: Chris Moran

let these words
be a battering ram
through the stargate
into a new field of vision
to flummox the energy
field deception wave,
a new death projection
betwixt the circulation beam––
amplified sound
just circulating
the celestial light of molten auras
I have held flames in my mind
greenish blue
siphoning air
from dimensions of darkness
because I am a moon lord––
diseased with penetrating dreams
of altered realities
really, the very focal point
of our energetic awareness
broken out of the hell-forged chains
of my wretched birth
from the far flung
galaxies of the elder star gods
the antediluvian archons
in and out
of this reality
and into the next one, where form becomes formless
the fabled gods and legendary beings––
owls act as cosmic intermediaries
and this is when the advanced spellcraft took hold
via subtle energetic vibrations
I am inventing psychic landscapes through volume
I am speaking of suns beyond sonority
of varicose moons and sanguine fish
of colored spheres drifting through the vast planetary theater
of pentagonal ratios, of palingenesis
this world’s the curse we live with
the myth of mold and honeysuckle
cycles of the golden ghost
through advanced carbon weaponry––
through the chalice of dismissal
the fruits of my discontent shall sculpt the air
in chiseled layers of atavistic artifice
brandishing a psychic mess of arteries
the oracular owls shall guide me––