O Life, thou plunderer,
Sly in thy cozzening, fell in thy lusts, weaver of nightmares, liar and cheat,
Here is thy last mockery,
Here is thy quarry: hast signalled the worms even now?
Swift be thy flight, thou craven and satyr and old purpled lust!
THE DEAD WHO LIVE
EXVOLVED
THE GOD OF NEGATION
GODWARD
Thou shalt love thyself more than thy neighbor.
Sound trumpet, thrust rapier, cleave unto thyself: self-ward we go, godhood be ours!
Unique in all time is my unquotable self: God in the dungeon of me, fear-shackled, thonged in the cords of the past.
Into the light at this moment, thou long-buried ONE; sternly, defiantly, joyously, I lift Thee into the light!
Long hast thou lain in crypts, and thy eyes are still closed; mute is God’s tongue, as silent as dreams.
Sound trumpet, thrust rapier, I cleave to myself, though spiked to a cross and rabbled by Doubt!