Masonick Non-rituals

Re-borns a-dazzle with the new darkness
Are flocking to town
Like pen-strokes to believe
In the all-business world
That before them has begun to break up
Into rays of magnetic speed.

Human salt-mists
And rainbow-smeared field creatures
Wheel into the luminous bone hills
That betrayed nothing of what might lie
A shovel-ful away.

Silver dividers, in this commodious corner,
Beneath flocking room-smoke
And crippled coal-blue fringes,
Torch false yards of wrinkled images,
Pipesful of stars fading
With fatty luminescence.

All light from outside vanishes
As something fills the doorway,
Regarding them with
Tunnel eyes focussed to
Hitherto unimagined intensities.

Your halo blinds me, sir.

Ed Garland, 2016

Remixed work:
Mason and Dixon, by Thomas Pynchon