Here are a few phantom-lines which spontaneously burst forth from the Well...

All my Hearts-guides now gather

In the Palace of the Tavern of the Slaves;

Servants blind in Giving, sequestered;

In prayer-circles turning, when the ecstacy is a cinder;

And the Light-mantles dissolve; Before the Whiteness

Of the exposed bone of each limb bleaches out the Eye;

And a single-tear of Pearl unfolds, In thy Presence,

When the humming of the honey-bee ceases

With the Heart-beat of a drum; Until then, All is Death;

Thy Mistress is lost; She is chained by her braids;

She cannot lose Herself; She is bound by the splendor of lights

In ribboned-bands; Lovely ribbons to strangle and wind-tight;

A tomb of vibration...depth, depth upon depth with walls

Dulling colors, frequencies of slowing-air, gelling light;

Annoint the Tomb with thy fleshy-waters and stolen jewels

Wed upon rotting wood, upon brick and stone;

Wet with lips of water, running off like curls of heavy hair;

Coils like curls, serpent-coils, with fangs to bind each strand

With thick venom; hanging-light in heavier curls before her face;

I cannot see or feel for this; the never-existent, the unraised rose;

The curls more dusky and heavy-scented, dead-bark and musk;

Until her curled-hair becomes a bed upon which death sits;

Still waiting to be raised; That which patient-waits

For One Unspeakable Whisper