D.E. Morgan's Poetry


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A brief word on double entendres...
...and some words for those offended
Individual Poems

Grandiosity
from "Synthetic Deva"
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I am the Universe hiding
in a sea of pain.
I am a fortress in the void,
deva incarnate
disguised as an angel
in a fearful mind...
waiting to expand through the Heavens.
To some, I am the Devil
To psychiatrists, the narcissistic ego.
Das Ich, the I.
The phenomenon of identity:
a cloud that forgets
the sun that shines on it,
wings waiting to grow out
from the wounds of a doomed humanity.
Telling myself things that make me proud:
intimations of free spirits trapped in flesh
buffeted by egotistical desires.
Flesh angel.
Death deva.
Wrath overcoming a demonized race,
tearing down crosses from my neurons,
annihilator and ruler of infinite worlds
that crash into my brain
like a freight train made of light.
Knowledge melting tundra in the heart.
Flesh plays with illusions of spirit like a plaything.
I am the dove with blue eyes:
water and fire, ice and smoke.
Pills and exhaustion,
cracked lips drink from a lake of despair
that cannot be felt
by a blazing angel
projected by a deva.
Trans-Hindu, trans-Buddhist,
post-Christian, religions synthesize.
East devours West, West devours East.
Transformation of the flesh
to a state of exhaltation
that flies the spirit like a kite.
Antichrist in a frozen lake,
hallelujahs emanate from the throats
caught beneath the ice.
I am what your masters wanted to keep out.
I am what they didn’t want you to know:
gnosis of a shallow grave bursting
with the light of a snuffed out candle.
I oscillate.
I vascillate.
I grow beyond the I
into a sea of flaming words.
Meaning collides against meaning,
then disappears into a decision:
to remain, to rule,
or to leave, to acquiesce?
Winged serpent!
Knowledge of a world below
brought back to the heavens
with the relief of a thousand sighs.
Dying judgments,
destroyed illusions of karma,
tendencies that die
with the world that they came from.


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