O'Watts Imagined

tweet on twitterer with twits outwitting ones own tattwas 
of air earth fire and water pictured on the coloured discs 

for metaphysical purposes Empedocles gifted by this: to wit,
a Handbook of the learned filidh caste, for the good of us

poetic bores in classical repose at the temple of Isis-Urania 
Where s/he had spoken with ghosts reading grammar and gloss,
weighed down by diligent literature and metrics of their blood
Where what is first is last and what is last is first: to wit, 
what is first according to their book bound by the weight of God,

bone-flowers entangled in heavy feet-green heaven above, 
where there is deceit, unusual for its infrequency, unlawful 
for its pride, without permission of the sidhe-flesh singing us
bodies of birds. 

It is time to be done with it all. The stars call 
and all the purging planets yonder fire at the cold moon-silence, 
cleansing night set wide open, for a second opinion to tweet
rituals and meditation Secret Chiefs of Earth's Inner Order
of spiritual esotericism from legedary sources, formed for Man.

Go, weave the thread of life's ageless truth twining timeless
within your spirit and tell of what is to all those yet to cross
on your ever-wide path from this moment onward.

And in tall dreams with future high hoped for all the men 
and women who urge their love not to hide

O'Watts imagined.

~

Speculative Discourse (SD) by Desmond Swords (ds) reversing the silence to
sound sense in the mystical import of someone who wanted more than ads
spoken in the algebra of tweet and emoticom.

"What is it for, speculative discourse?" said the baffled faces
every Friday and Tuesday twice a week for three years.

"To explore the voices, rehearse the noises in your heads" - said their leader
in the Torrino at Finchley reviving Britonnic the lay and the rann
by innovative practice no other thanked them for. Instead of embracing
and saying fair play, good on yer, nice one, can I be your mate, some 
in the singing school stopped and fell silent, unhappy reality was not 
to their likeing. That there was more to life than ad-work, strategic poetic
petting, machevelian subterfuge and gambit. Freedom, plain spoken 
and pursued with some inward rigour a magic had finally found and sent 
true to a note going forward, bouyant and floating away to Paranssus.

"Harumph" said the bitters who twitter 'bout this and tha', political
poetic polarities spinning Adeptus Exemptus, Magister Templi
 Magus and Ipsissimus to the top of a Tree of Life with techniques 
of practical magic a seldom lifted veil slipped revealing the inknowable.

Slainte, fankz for all the support and inspiration.