Paracelsus: Poem by Diane di Prima

Extract the juice which is itself a Light.

Pulp, manna, gentle
Theriasin, ergot
like mold on flame, these red leaves
bursting
from mesquite by the side
of dry creekbed. Extract


the tar, the sticky
substance
heart
of things
(each plant a star, extract


the juice of stars
by circular stillation
smear
the inner man w/the coction
till he burn
like worms of light in quicksilver
not the false
puffballs of marshfire, extract


the heart of the empty heart
it is full
of the star soul that paces fierce
in the deeps of earth
the Red Man,
healer
in furs
who carries a club
who carries
the pale homunculus
in his belly.
For you are angel, you call
the soul from plants


or pearls of ambergris
out of the grudging sea.
Extract arcanum. Separate
true Archeus from the false
the bitter
is not less potent—nor does clarity
bespeak truth.


Out of the heart of the ineffable
draw the black flecks of matter
& from these
the cold, blue fire.
Dry water. Immerse
yourself
though it be but a drop.
This Iliaster
flowers like the wind.
Out of the ash, the Eidolon of the world


Crystalline.
Perfect.