Approach the second. Impossible. That middle door. Impassable. A number of paces from you. Count yourself. It opens as you approach. As heavy as oak as diaphanous as silk. Griffins Cupids. Bacchantes. Its darkness swallows you as you enter. Some paces. Or none at all. You see nothing. You hear voices around you. Like echoes. Without origin. Source. Fresh. But without dying to a whisper. Vesperal. Voices printed directly onto the drying walls. Fresco mouths. In Florentine swelter Dantean chill

'Coleridge held that Unitarianism is not
Christianity although some
Unitarians are Christians which ones

(: a trio a trinity for up to three overlapping or interleaving voices
(: at a pace


mother of god pleading for
the possibilities of knowing the
bleeding catastrophe looks away with a starry thought

Christ who hangs in space the
wonder equipped with evil
two severed hands float the accusing air

jack-in-the-box god
bursts its sob into your palms
spits its betrayal soaks your tight blindfold

pops up his beneficent head
its eyeball ache with a neat vision
as the man pierces the prices

Mersey gulls circle like angels
against tempura azure
a novice a neophyte grips the chiselled feet

colours whirling as a dervish
opens up your fingers to
the halo's wet worth

before your ecstatic eyes the
nuns' shivering loin voodoo
leads the market in relics

vacant eyed innocence sees angels
fabric'd in fire their vestments
sticky with eternity opening its time-line

ignorance of a beard's tickling
the recalcitrant flesh
congealing blood on the harpie's man trap

the ranter sinks to his knees
believes in belief a shock
tail of a demon swishes a wound inch deep

the mumbling water of redemption
escapes if your god falls asleep
sheer goodness flaps its weight in gold

the vegetal voices of god falling to the earth
barefoot in the world
on rainbow wings


'Look closely George a magnifying glass
'A startling huge eye looms in the lens
'The beginning of my interest in Surrealism

Out. Back from this room. You never entered. It entered you leaves you. As you stand here. Unseeing. No longer listening to me. Reading to yourself. Reading yourself. In a head-voice. Voices. To find that huge eye melting as the glass is pulled back. Making its own shapes in its focal arena. A monster porthole