The Vision of Websites

By L.M. Orr

A field of flowers, mangled and shorn,
A picture of Paradise, tattered and torn.
Read in a book and mark it all up,
Then loathsomely chop it, chop it to dust.

The artifex penned you a song of sweet tone,
To hear it dissònant, and played out of key.
O cancerous carbuncle, agèd and proud,
From skin to the marrow, work it around!

“Worship and welcome,” it says on the door –
Before you a chasm, a hell with no floor.
“There standeth our Wisdom,” so readeth the line,
“So let us but chatter, and idly pass time!

“Ground to ground murmurs, air to air sounds:
Hand to the falchion, nose to the stone!
Type up a Liber, put up a link –
If they don’t ‘hit’ us, we’ll colour it pink!”

“O Master, what’s Magick?” –
“’Tis not to be read:
This Vision of Websites
has gone to your head!”