THEFT OF LINES FROM THE GNOSTICS alone with my name something migrating over my house calls out my name uttered I am called I turn to what calls a matter of falling down a resting matter not bitter or wrathy to partake by means of embraces the oblation that is in our laps the blow and the healing (attached to his mouth by means of my tongue) turn to turn to brilliant stars the middle world as in the case of anyone's ignorance the thousand and thirteenth question raises those who wish to rise
next poem >>