Sitting still slowly slacking
from the forging phase
Of Asana's seemingly, decaying, dashing rays:
The pain of the zealous Zelator is a deadly fume
Dripping off earth's crashing crust into a sinking 'shroom.
I am flashing, flowing, flying with florescent consciousness:
I am ultimately broken into crystalizing bliss.
Life is nothing more expanded than a rising taste of Trance --
This is why in Atu XXI is shown a Lovely Dance:
To erection of the Will's Flame -- of the growing Sacred Lance
To Our Lady with Her Love Chant echoing : " To me, To me "
Loving greatly gorging gashing of the Phallus Liberty.