Brachiating in te Akeake, the Eternal Tree

In the beginning, Good said “Let there be enlightenment”.

Orange lichen grows on shingled roofs of Ōtautahi town.
FOG SIMILAR SIGN PET [ting] boils up Avon side, lip.
Orange lamps ripple on black water of the Ōtākaro.

Without omniscience, we cannot trust
our very selves, nor yet be truly just. 
Thus, “Let your eye be single that your body fill with light"… 
a voice exactly in the corner said, upon an height. 
It opens you up to possession, they hear-say
who said ‘He hath a de-vil’ way back in the day.
“Light of the World"! Light light! "Father of lights"!
Column of Flame that guides through desert nights!
the outmost Sun & inmost Son... one-pointed mind...
the reason WHY we're humankind.
Expansive, almost there! then falling

foreground here: One clamboured up from growing ground. 
One’s bookbag hung upon a broken branch,
FOG SIMILAR [to] SMOKE DIVIDE LIGHT HERE
swaying. Hold it, swivel, hang. Alert all 
sides night light mist lavender-grey orange white
BEAUTIFUL IT VERY QUIET STILL CALM 
gold. Why, any limb draped restful eases 
one’s primeval hang! Refractions softly of lined lamplights… 
egg-yolk blur-edged risen-hugely jack o' lantern Luna...
I LEARN ASL EGG FROM  <<SHAPE WATER>>
AND NZSL SIGN EGG VIC D BOOK

Something-must-be-done about this numbing fork! 
but all dendrition dreamt discomfort.
How one envies orange orangutans, cream 
gibbons! One would dwell in branches in
a proven prism warehouse, and glad glass
about it would enclose close orchard. One 
would swing from shelf to health, watch silvereyes
scarf fat! But I’m not covetous, more in it 
for the necessary model in the middle.

Ahasuerus! Ahaseurus sitteth on the throne.
OUR SOLAR SYSTEM NOT FAR FROM G-A-L-A-C-T-I-C CENTER NOW
A little numb in the extremities.
Detached from cold, accessing model Earth.
WORLD SITUATION NEED  FRESH OCTOPUS. 
The bourgeois/apparatchik* heads of institutes
& enterprises cannot comprehend
this pullulating mass of rhythms, braids
of trends, but do pretend to understand
uneasily, do ratchet up A.I.  “DO!” Necessity
of simultaneous and penetrating modelling, with base.
Then dreamt of rooms and faces that were not defined.

Next day: still silvereyes they welcomed one and willingly  
did sup with one above the kōwhai known as “Luigi’s” where 
cat can’t catch clutch; and stared at songthrush brown suspicious but I still don’t think he/she, afraid then: searching perching look.

PROCEED WITH OCTOPUS. So, bundling
in the form of symbols' vast swathes’ data
download… Take for instance body is to
soul as Babel Tower Babylon the 
Great to Babylon within your heart, 
horse recognised for mount & yet “prepared
against the day of battle”, is to many
aggregative trends without the soul’s clay
envelope. Not the one without the other.

Suddenly we’re in a bucking bronc
mid mud mode muppets: what to do, how much, 
too much ado, sand storm: had habits such
as ignorance, sharp temper tantrums, pride,
depreciation, bragging, gossip, hate;
bile, bucking broncos’ brain brawn heartstring brand
ishings, not yet  transmuted in the fires
(Elisha’s oxen & the yoke thereof)
apokatastasis of all things with God, 
of ALL things! do you hear? in Heaven and on Earth:
Son! Shadrach, Meshach, & Abednego!
that “shirt of flame” and “a consuming fire”
beyond the sensate stream of Babylon
in Promised Landfall’s Milk-and-Honeyed Light.
I do.

*There are, after all, two sides of the economisation of man, hence singling out bourgeois and apparatchiks.

Notes: "perplexity of nations"

X is to x squared is to x cubed as 
WW1 to WW2 to WW
3 as League of Nations is to  U.N.
is to WorldGov’s a scenario much
in one’s crosshairs, like one’s gray hairs or one’s earlocks
or the physiology of sex as

necessarily relates to Soul. For
in our mount we’re different lamp, unwelcome. 
“As “a great door and effectual opened” up,
so many adversaries in one’s mount, 
about, a bit like sour bunting bones
and dizzy flies, and then there’s falling down

among skyscrapers,skies, stock market floors
a blinded horse to keep one busy bee 
below. Among the beelines for baloney 
we don’t juggle three but mesazoic,
power bills, balls, “dead men’s bones”, bots, bother,
faces, tones. We juggle 1 bajillion,

often without mercy; even though it’s
mass society & we should have compassion
on accelerating jugglers; much as 
we accelerate ourselves, expanding
universes twining in us. Great apes
desperately encumber crumbling twilight.

Sometimes 12 balls. Sometimes 47!
Oops it happens. Something blows the breaker.
Billionaire: a plausible deniability 
autonomous appurtenance, like North Korea.
Anymore, these proxies tangle like extension cords.
Word is, among dystopians: transmitters

broadcast model citizen John Jacob Everyman
to everybody! smart dust searchable: fantastic
paranoia! but remote-controlling roaches was
sufficient leaven. So we got the loaf we cooked up 
in the burning labyrinth, well done! As robots race
against our exoskeletons, we hedge our bets. We 

talk of blockchain, debt apocalypse, apocalypse in
general, & the physiology of sexual acts,
aware that a distractobot might well at any time
dilute communication with mere questionnaire. But one
digresses. Now, where was one? ‘Physiology of Sex,
Relation to Religiosity of Same’: some have 

a married face as though one flesh. One wonders if it’s wrong
for instance to take tissue samples, with consent of course.
Here, have a look. Just LOOK how similar those lovebirds look.
Perhaps one can just know it as a player throws a ball –
without equations – but would lose these iterated opportunities
to witness to fissiparous modernities of Him.

If 'Don Juan’ Then the Prussic acid (tetrameter)

Byron was right to be annoyed 
at Shelley’s choice of “Ariel”:
 which sank in seething sea. “How long
do you intend to be content”
his doppelgänger said to him
along the terrace, terrified him!
among centuries. Was given
“Skylark”! Shelley’s way of thanking
God was… (Well, “Life” didn’t “Triumph”.)
Nietzsche wrote <<The antiChrist>>
& then baa ztt! insane. The brain
may be a blasted fig tree or
an emperor grazing grass, a grim
end/interlude continuum. So,
if you have a speck of talent,
be afraid! Perhaps you won’t be
torn apart, Abdul Alhazred
in the marketplace, a horse of
course of course, a blasted weeping
or Nebuchadnezzar the King!

The Reality of the Oligarchs

The Hypostasis of the Oligarchs
is interlocking, like tectonic plates,
such as the mob’s deal with the FBI
in WW2, among our many streets
above us in concentric traceries:
Atlantis, City of the Locks & Rings.
The Hypostasis of the Oligarchs
binds its expression in antithesis --
ants clamoring for their inheritance
in the twilight, in the musk of night’s sight --
and elections are her hurricanes and 
between this foolishness the Parties part
their parts: the whole tamale’s shimmering
shebang. One cannot see the spider for 
the web; the failing eyes of proud men do
not see the garden for its hedgerows. For
our sight is failing in the labyrinth
in sight of crumbling castles at low tide. 
We’re crumbling at low tide together now
as bitterness gives way to enemies.
The Hypostasis of the Archons
is a mixing pot of paint; and in a 
petri dish it pullulates, beyond us
yonder, ineluctable. Five hundred
page encomiums to statecraft add up
to an iterative governance not taught
in civics courses; where one is not taught
about the Law of Conservation of the Ruled. 
The Hypostasis of the Oligarchs
is Apparatchiks, Fat Cats, Princelings, Cent Familles,
what have you. Very little, likely. Long 
before we dreamt of freedom at our desks,
before us, merciless & mad
it woke us where it wanted us; & we
were seldom able to insert an act
in edgewise. Freedom: cotton pickers hand
out happy meals to hands from minivans
emerging, urging on the powerful
like bathtub rings. “…the more they stay the same”
A bathtub ring is real! It has a heft of sorts.
But informed citizens are leprechauns,
and I am sick! of informed leprechauns.
And informed leprechauns are sick of me.