Pratyahara Poem by Barry Van Asten

Hanging skeletons dangle like catkins
On the lime shoots, tumult of time
Breathing sleep and sexual nutrition;
Liquid loquation - wonder and wisdom:
A space full of meaning with your name upon.
Departing from vision, distorted sensation -
Bodies were straying to half-aged man.
A confession and an obligation;
A battery of bells where patron Austen,
Roman builders, Greek thinkers, all transgress
Cracked frustration and ornamental flourish
Where uterine ecstasy's shape transforms
The accent of freedom, the earnest of gender -
The sacerdotal solace of spirit, now born.

Within me blew an orchard, a temple formed
Of tribe and trance, a summer house
Open to elements and friends.
A misfortune of mind, a neuro malfunction
As youth blossom-bombs reason, stretching
Nicotine wings from frontier to frontier.
Consumed by the praeternatural within -
Virgin on the hexagonal, assume
The turned point of no return.
Agape - free from abstract will
Relieved and delivered of evil, shows
Moss lanes to some cathode erased time
Rooted with beauty...Doom ships carry
Torments of entangled ecstasy, ringed
By wild confusion, the soul's salvation
Lost in the words of a prayer again.