Postscript to Witchs Pit 2
With Alternates
A hundred thousand ate acid like manna-hungry Jews
in wilderness rain and me straight, black eyed
with
Christ
at
Woodstock,
By day Hendricks guitar
torque converting notes of
Star
Spangled
Banner
took us
by
mimicking
MI-34 helicopter where the bombs dropped;
by
campfires
drums and flute purged the slug among pickled foetus,
sharks teeth, and neo Nietzschean T.V.
body counts;
burning Buddhist monks forced us
awakefully
beyond borders to the enemys heart.
"If we are our brothers
keepers then..."
Heather shocked theta waves till
Chaplainesque nights
were floodgates of laughter where sinesmilla
scenarios
forever
altered
geometrically
my epistemic roots.
As i kindly refused hippie Thetis
of
shining breasts
devoutly
murmuring
susurrus
that
my beloved at Rouen grave site would sing hosannas,
blazing wild lights of azure sky for eyes
dripping Revlon
on hospital gown, enraptured
like a Chagall character
fighting gravity with Holy Spirit, my beloved buried
the placenta.
My beloveds "Ave
Maria"
helium bound with our childs soul was floating
beyond the Impressionist
museum.
Above us at Woodstock the night flight of
migratory birds recalled lean and craggy
strength of
cranes rustling
gecko leaves
We are like cranes
suffering
to gambol
in the moons
penumbrance.
II.
Its a sin to kill an elephant
thats why I want to do it.
Its the only sin you can
go out and buy a license for
before committing.
Through binoculars from the jeep
so majestic in tall savannah grass
above its knees the African
elephant makes one believe in
human insignificance as compared
to Gods glory.
Its a sin to kill an elephant;
the drums always start with White
hunter Black heart.
Incidentally, had i told the truth
i would now be a cake of soap.
III.
The eye of Hurricane Georges
passes over Key West
giant Burger King signs
clutter
streets near the sea wall
where
houseboats
are smashed to worthless
scraps
chance
shocks
to hubris in the game of life.
On
the charter Purple Haze
4 days deep sea searching for swordfish
off
the Florida Keys,
today September 26th,
1998
from the cabin of Purple
Haze
i dream my wife J.A.
and aborted child daughter with bronze afro
are spirit leaping
kicking up sand
from the whispering mouths
of perfumed hyacinths
along the River of Life
swollen
glowing
with
Buckfullerance
molecules
in
New Jerusalem.
No sun. No moon. No stars.
The
New Physics:
there are no shadows:
God
is center stage
all light, all love only
without
baseball,
homeless
stealing home.
Outside the gates
reprobates and whores,
lovers
of lies
snarl
and snap
endlessly
slathering
like rabid dogs.
|