PAN-DEMON-IUM (SOUL OF THE ARTIST)

one whirlwind within

chairs and cassette players swirling upwards

the sturdy green sofa … off to heaven

roofs lifting, tiles as birds, swirling with gusto

the string section hums, low, a dangerous drone

soundtrack to the pandemonium above

west wind has coupled with the north

south and east winds battling for dominance

old, oranged leaves as spattered stars spinning

all within

all within

those without are lost in their comfort

lurching amongst the frogs in a dead pool, still

the artist, in the prime of life, maddens the muddy river

stirs up the centuries old silt

meets with great minds behind

meets with future minds not yet born

he casts his paint at the purple heavens

in the hope of attaining immortailty

he is far from dead

the only living being, armed with spade

he attacks the soil with courage and lust

seeking to dig a hole so black

that from within it no semblances may issue their sorry forms back

he is the source man

master of criminal thoughts

drinker of the mid summer rains

pallid diviner of long forbidden melodies

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