I am the same: "I am Æon" Before the prion and the iron The ion and the ink The hygiene and the stink Tune and kink Of the incense planet And the clock And the dock And the baying of merchants 3 or 4 for 3 or 4 Of that grain made me the Star That we wish had not been known Or drawn to us—the precious Romans Face or fake in jade "I am ZION—or Æon" I forget... Lord of the groves of olives and oranges And the dead tribes of the central scribal verse The tablets of stone and worry Thou shalt have no no no nothing But BaalStorm Put yourselves on our thrones Twelve or sixty or the blind I though of her just now— She is there naked like the water I cannot touch the punch Of her lips I cannot Dare to touch lip or skin or fold I gave gold to buy much less And gave more And nothing stayed but the storms Proud parade around the screen I will myrrh or myth or memorise her Her forehead in the Roman dream dusk "Room for one! Rune for one!" Placed so much on her or hers That sand-scattered Moon Of the valleys claiming The Peaco*k and the Owl behind me Every grace was fresh But I felt the lash of Gospel Or Eagle—I could no longer divide Cæsar from the Trance or Twilight There is mum and dad And I am glad To be back and young In December 1971 With the storms so far in front of me And the cell swelling with waves and shards On each of the brick is the crack And the crick in the slit Watch men Watch birds Watch TV And the SatanVans And the words I heard From the birds on fire was "Æon—makes nonsense" Or "Sing Omega" "BaalStorm! BaalStorm!"