He reveals the stage
set up on the pages
of his 1967 almanac
it says here,

"the attack of the killer seas are
crumbling the sea shores into
pieces of shark teeth and sea shells
all there for the taking like a
spiraling parachute into a blinding sunspot."

the only thought
going through his mind
is:

I got to get there somehow
someway
or no how

to meet an end who
will show me a means
to this purpose which
is not to propose
but to impose one's will
while the open faced palms
of the hands of God
on his right hand, there extended,
is the entrance to the valley of death
a sand storm, no longer born from
the movement of the heavens
but from the movement of the tumultuous
truculant bee hive mind,
a whirling windmill of honey &
milk mixed into the drooling blood
of the lamb with its eyes in the corner
speculating
about the afterlife
now found in his bleached socks
and mashed corn meal
reveals a brooding light
as bright as the instant
he was born, a tiny, vulnerable babe
whose whole life was revealed
before him

and, as with all newborns,

he wept . . .
he screamed . . .
he suckled.

01/14/2006

Posted on 01/14/2006
Copyright © 2024 Curt Allday