by Laszlo Aranyi, translated by Gabor Gyukics
Solidified water; laughingly
creakingly cracking ice
from the lower sphere.
(Saturn recedes to the Scorpion.)
An intermediate state: continuous fermentation squeezes out
disgusting babbling bitter fluids
from the half-decomposed meat
cajoling masses of green backs drooling on the meat.
The uterus’ shaping tiny homunculus initiatives
with her beak shaped retort.
Ringing. A cop disguised fellow resembling a wounded tree branch.
“I’d be the hybrid staff sergeant,” that’s his greeting
“I’d swing one or two with
my good scythe…” waves as a conductor
and conjures a basilisk out of the elderberry breathing night.
Above on the dead mask of Osiris
twin snakes dance bound with a silk cord.
Every contrast’s thriving for the spherical shape the same way,
die hundred times a minute to live,
walk around Death, hundred and thousand times,
call him
the way you call one of the twin snakes bound with a silk cord.
Laszlo Aranyi (Frater Azmon) poet, anarchist, occultist from Hungary. Earlier books: (szellem)válaszok, A Napés Holderok egyensúlya. New: Kiterített rókabor. English poems published: Quail Bell Magazine, Lumin Journal, Moonchild Magazine, Scum Gentry Magazine, Pussy Magic, The Zen Space, Crêpe & Penn, Briars Lit, Acclamation Point, Truly U. Known spiritualist mediums, art and explores the relationship between magic. On twitter @azmon6.
