Prayer

While I continue to steam out a bad head cold I have at the moment, allow me to divert you with a prayer from Antonin Artaud.

O for skulls of burning coal
singed by lightning from on high,
and you, lucid one, to keep us real
and sanitize us when you stop by.

Deliver us afresh to skies
of within whose chasms fall like showers;
shoot us through with dizzy surprise
where your nails plant their aching fires.

Feed us, give us this day our daily
intersidereal kerfuffle.
With lava of stars for blood, shall I
need anything more for my survival?

Cut us loose. Separate us with
your hands of burning coal that showed
the way to where one dies beyond death,
out there on the burning road.

Make our brains stagger at the heart
of the self-knowing they inter.
Let the ravishing of our minds start
with the claws of the new whirlpool we enter.