Saturn and the Hymn of the Ring-Makers
Horned, Saturn swallows whole globes
like Cronos himself
gulping down his offspring.
And the black cube that is this universe
tilts on its
A north pole hexagonal
in three dimensions
is a cube.
The vortex like an eye
crying our Maya,
and black Capricorn
soaks all unseen realms.
And all the while billions of crystals are singing
as they lap round and round their master,
the debasing density of this reality,
the unthinkable violence of normalcy
the farm of fear in The lost fog of once-pure consciousness;
All by the hymn of the ring-makers.