I give up:
I bleed I must know.
Grant me the
gnosis. Kill me with
knowledge o ogdoad
that I may flail my
gill slits in a
structureless phylogenous
recapitulation. The
line of evolution
hangs like some wizened
scrotum on an arab donkey, to which
let us lift up the pale
articulations, to suck knowledge
from the plumed garden of Gnosis.
Come near gnostic worm,
with wiggle, with wig-waggle,
& feed on our livid kidneys,
spit up from our body tensions
a paste born from the rose wraith within.