Visceral Viscera

The blackness emblazoned forth, an enigmatic shuffling of the cards of the abyss wailing into the maw fantastic.
Red, yellow, blue, mixed to a muddy hue and then walked on and talked on until it flew, flew too far, and too high,
To blackness nigh,
Way into the sky, did it become to this nigritudious ensign, following the wallowings of a rebirth-death's twine.
Like gentle B. Caapi vines reaching out in entreaty in dimethyltryptamine sings, was he now reaching.
Far away, into infinities that swallowed themselves in caduceus stitchings, the overlaid complex of too many serpents
Eating too many of each other's tail.
Beyond the lines, here and catapulted, beyond the somnolent maya illusory truth-dressed shimmering lie,
Straight into the lie-dressed shimmering truth's insides, all its environs swiftly exhorted beyond time,
Beyond good and evil, beyond deaths of many, and ever-transcendent.
No, no, it is not cowards who die many deaths, but the strongest, thus valiant whom are the line-benders, such as he,
Now as a God within the ethereal universe's austere divinity.
It's a drug on war, and an endless implore into the vast and darknesses and lights, respectively, almighty each. 1

Numinous numerous, is this place, hence has he flown, more than the archetypes of mere human consciousness.
Wordless, yes, is it; and even these Trinities of Color so primary do not give the best intonation of its primaryness,
Its primordialness, its visceral viscera a stomach whose digest is too
(Avast! Immensities loom within!)
for even the tombs of tomes of flowing words,
Written by us exalted, exulted apes, in our desperation to communicate this holy communion of enigmatic existence. 2

Now from the abyss, did he kiss, and find his cadence and creed inside blue's somber, pacified, quaint austerities:
To Shiva did he say, "Come, come, my lord, what may,"
and did he finally see, then, truly, the color blue,
in all its hue.3

Before only caught, within his sorely feeble, human mind, of the black and white of blue,
Not of its endless dropping dew of melting amalgams of amorphous amour.
Now the ripe womb of the abyss, like a tree of rhizome had graced this fruit:
Of actually seeing, feeling, color so synaesthetic, not just mere aesthetic. 4

So did now come, from the slumbers of his awareness,
The subconscious subconduit subcutaneous flow of surreptitious serenity
Called and named with the dogma misnomer of enlightenment, in terms and definitions
Full of stead of insolubility impossibilities --5

This Tao, of feeling and knowing colour rather than just color,
This paint and hue of blue in the expanse of this pregnant womb,
Birthed now forth, from this simulacrum plastic tomb world
Now came from his almighty morosity
and the perma-frost-bitten
Lumps of pain at having never yet realized awareness to this stair-level
On the stairs of rising and becoming--
A bellow supreme, of a new color's being.6

Thus was red, irascible, among the blues, mingling these now twos,
Like yin to yang touched and hanged,
Did he walk beyond the blackness of his fear and own destrudo
Past the thanatos thistles stabbing into his bursting third eye,
And forth from this carbuncle of harmony and reside
In this burning anger and hot, hot heat, to check the opposing froth
This Star of Ra hue, bright, striking, attention-grabbing and boiling
Did now, as the sun does to us each day, vagrantly rise.7

And thus did Blue merge to Red, purpling about strongly and wed
Now in fiery tears and flame within ice,
Thoughts of power and communication beyond precise,
Which, in our language, can only merely entice
A small slither of meaning from the snakes of our tongues:8

That yet to him, then, is transcendent of immeasurable importance.9

Black, then blue, then red, to purple,
Now came the last, the yellow repast of eudaimonia panoramia
Did come hence, drawn from his psychical syncretisms,
Awash in glorious lightfingers prismaic,
Harken: Into this darkness almighty, did come this opposite-of almighty,
Till known of its character it was to him,
Then thus in this din, did they all combine,
At first the green, green verdant grasslings, 10

Then stood only gray, grey, in open shades,
He opened his eyes, then, from his closed-eyed
Visions, to the disappointing cascades
of the open-eyed consensual visualizations.
Basking and holding himself in this synchronicity machine
Wrapped in plastic fantastic incomprehensible,
gilded xeroxian montage.11

With a smile and knowledge, now, infint-smally, despite
Blessed being, by the Gray Dragon of the Poppy
in endless respites
Born anew,
death as much a birth as an end
beginning alive.