Metatron

The navel sprouts a ladder beam
A column of ash and a piller of dust
The pelvis awaits the sinking skull
Descending in degrees of lust
What believers believe and seers have seen
In their hearts and brains and livers and spleens
From leaf to branch to bow to trunk
A cycle of filth burning clean
The iris sprouts an open gate
A point of exit and entering
Where crossroads cross and continue along
The planet's curve and the planet's swing
What thinkers have thought and knowers have known
In their nerves and veins and hairs and bone
A tomb of encyclopedias
The moon relays what the sun has shone
The urethra sprouts a mirrored Bell
That rings and reflects simultaneously
Hovering like a dragonfly
Above the levitating trees
What the doomsdayers and the naysayers say
In their guts and thighs and vertebrae
From stone to soil to root to trunk
The miracle of mutation