Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , on August 1, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

I arise

out of time – space:

the father,

the lord,

the God of your gods.


I am primordial.

I ooze.

I bleed.

I cry your life into being.

I am The One,


your master,

your slave,

your life,

your blood…

Sacrifice to me – your scent,

your soul.


I am nothing.

I am “the” nothing.

What you are is what I am:

the master/the slave.

One who is two.

Two who are one.

I am three to mate with you.


You are nothing without me.

I am All without you.




me –


the source of all confusion,

the madness of all destruction,

the end/the beginning,

the creator/destroyer,

and I’ve come here for you…


your dog to rip the throats from your enemies…

your soul to rise like bile in your throat.

Taste my voice.

Enjoy what you will never know:



Taking Pleasure in the Mind

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , , on July 1, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

Father, lover, friend…
you’ve aged in your youth.
We left our home together last night
and traveled through our history.
Drive on through the darkness
to lead me to your source…

Where the Ganges flows into the Nile…
Where you drop your cup and pour a winter’s deluge
to drown the anointed, like Pharaoh’s army,
in the middle… Where, stolen from the morning
sun, Helen attempts your rival. Sacrifice
your blood like wine tonight.

Let the forest shiver through your feathers, a vast
army of emptiness burning among
your lucky stars; this supernova explodes
inside my heart – firstborn to possess
the signs of life. Only the King himself could
cast His gaze upon the yellow tip of our flame.

My cousin and I shall join your romance, though less
beneficent than you to us. You taught us
to not believe the priests, to trust ourselves
instead – the genius, the insane: completely
human with needs greater than your own. Independent,
emotionless to those of forgotten faith.

Yours is the Father of all
the gods: a fixed quality, an airy
element, a masculine nature adorned
in Saint Michael’s robe. Your metal turns nuclear,
drowns me like lead, the primrose carnation
tattooed through your ankle into your blood,

which is mine. For, your body is
mine. Your mind sparks my own. We shared
each other last night until your light
burst through this darkness, incinerating
the world’s newest age with the breath of
this dragon bleeding at your feet.

The Jungle

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , on May 10, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

More muscular and aggressive,

this is the time of our lives.

Our bones are thicker, our feet –

larger.  Our necks won’t keep us

from the front line any longer.


Our eyes are armored.  Our manes

are black and mature.  Your music

has grown flat; we’re blind to the

birth of your Lord.  Move to provoke

us again, you who slaughtered our children.


In Sumer, we reached maturity.  Prehistoric

peoples merged themselves with us, turned

us to the steeds for 18 of your gods.  We

despise your superior attitudes.  Equanimity

lies in our souls, which is why we beg

your mother for forgiveness, offer

her first-born our most prized possessions.


Not even the serpent’s poison could

destroy us.  We are your kings after

death, alive inside their hearts and minds.

The sun itself shines from our music,

the wings of our third eyes, our tongues.


Once upon a time, we led you

through the desert to be abandoned.

But we are jealous gods, punishing

gods who will visit the sins of the

Fathers upon their sons in the jungle.


Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , , on March 30, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

Detached and meaningless

from the rest of this world.


Like a word with no context,

no sentence to make any sense:

a sound devoid of hearing.


I twirl this pen between my fingers,

enamored by the shadows it makes,

these scratches on a piece of paper –

from my darkness to your light.


From my darkness to your light…

my eye tries capturing the dragon

I see in these caverns.  It’s your light

coiling upon itself in my mind’s eye.


Can you see through these cataracts?

A lotus floating, open, upon the stream,

a source for life, for light, detached

and meaningless from the rest of this world.


Like a poem with no context,

no structure that makes any sense:

a tree falling silent in the woods.


Attached and meaningful

to nothing other than itself.

The Orgasmatron

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , , on February 8, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

You are the first… visible

until the end of time: a

new beginning for the

Fool’s anniversary.  Six

hours later every year,

you sound the trumpets

of War – the origin of life

itself.  You are the cardinal

fire, scapegoat, perpetual

enemy of Venus.  Exalting

the sun, you fell from

the house of the gods.


With your fleece of gold,

you water the earth: twin

inspector for oceanic life.

Galaxies interact within you.

Meteors shower from your

reign, encompassing every-

thing around you.  You are

the Pharaoh, first – fertility,

creativity… The storyteller I

met once upon a time.  When

you indicated my rebirth, our

priests dedicated this to you.


Not to be confused

with the “southern” fly,

you’ve been seen every-

where.  Looking behind your-

self, running – you are the

polygon of twelve segments

who saved the regent’s children

by bucking Hell from your back –

You crouched, head downturned…

Unformed and void, you rule

my mind, and now is your time.

(I met you, once, as a child.)

Sketch for a Future Poet

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , on January 20, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

This poem is a sketch of me

trying to liberate myself again.


To write as if I’d never heard language before…

To love as if I’d never seen a body before…

To live as if I’d never experienced this world before.


I believe…


Someday, nobody will believe

that, once upon a time, somebody

could have been so vibrant and alive.


Someday, nobody’s eyes will gaze

upon the dark scratches that

sketched out these words you read.


Someday, nobody will know,

any longer, the veins on the hand

who wrote this poem.


Someday, nobody will caress,

any longer, the fingers that

held a pen to write these lines.


Someday, nobody’s face will

be cupped by this palm

completed by these words it untangled.


Someday, nobody will believe

that, once upon a time, somebody

could have been so vibrant and alive.


Do you believe?


Will you live as if you’d never experienced this world before?

Will you love as if you’d never seen a body before?

Will you write as if you’d never heard language before?


This poem is a sketch of you

trying to liberate yourself again.


Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , , , on January 19, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

You are Enki’s child

who carved the Sun Stone

with a goat’s horn…


A mysterious warrior

bearing the people’s sorrow

amid Lord Shiva’s embrace.


On the third month’s

third day, you strangled

the serpent creating our universe.


Your mind is a pyramid.

Your tale’s the ocean.  Infinity

rests between your steps,


nestles into your many sets.

My positive approaches your negative

and adds up to the counter-intuitive.


You are the celestial ox

watering the earth:

a pure woman of emptiness.


The warring states are crying

upon your ramparts –

a trinity for nonbelievers.


While you sail across the heavens,

attack, withdraw, and reserve

yourself until my birth.


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