The battle for souls rages on
in a bell jar
in Kansas City.
from the dreams of Milton
writhe on through the ages.
How could an artist
Did he love or hate
his fellow humans?
but if you look closely, you’ll see
that the God of love
and the God of smite
are crafted from the same tusk.
Because the hour’s late
and the smell of the air gobsmacked me
into the past
this is all I can leave here.
I am fortune’s child, and how that happened
is the mystery of my earthly millisecond.
I take her gifts
and give back a few of my own,
I don’t think it’s expected.
My bikes rarely get flats,
the shower’s done before the hot water runs out,
the alternator expired at a side-road
off the busy highway,
my mother and father were never mean,
And best of all,
I can carry a tune, for
what that’s worth.
In the visible,
discerned by our face-camera,
blue can be grey
if the frame changes color.
We are easily deceived by a pretty face
a blind dog can know its friend.
In the ultraviolet
we can discern
only by sunburn or science.
can kill us with tiny mutant cells
show us distant stars in their massive youth.
we discern with our skin
and go out for a picnic
on a warm summer’s day.
is totally like this.
Photo by Octodrone Maxilla
says the millipede to the leaf
as the air goes cold in springtime
Oh, shelter me
says the leaf to the twig
as the breeze lifts her fellows ‘long the climb
Oh, oh shelter me
says the twig to the branch
as the storm becomes less than benign
Shelter, oh shelter me
says the branch to the tree
as it clings to the strong wooden spine
Shelter me, oh, shelter me
says the tree to the forest
as lightning’s child razes her shrine
Shelter me shelter me
says the smoke to the air
as the last ash drifts dusty and fine.
says the speck to the millipede
as it settles to ground
and becomes part of time.
As the Israelites departed Egypt, it is written,
Pharoah asked Moses for a blessing.
Godmade mutant nature had
creeped fell hopped
flew flowed erupted
festered gnawed bit
until Pharaoh said “Let me go. By my gods and your One God, let me go.”
We will never know
what transpired between them,
Moses with his pack and stony coins of bread,
sandals untied from his haste to begone;
Pharaoh with eyes red and cheeks sunk in sorrow.
They must have heard the deafening silence outside,
broken by a lonely bleat, a sob, a slamming door.
I like to think Moses raised an eyebrow
and took his leave,
Pharoah wondering if that’s the form
this new evil god’s blessings take,
or if he had already been blessed
If I am good, perhaps I can fashion
my own afterlife.
No skin off Godparticle’s nose, I do all the work,
everyone is happy.
I would ken all spectra and wavelengths
through the scree of interplanetary dust,
navigate ping and thrum of the nebulae songs,
and pierce the darker stuff between
I would visit objects numbered, named, or not,
surf the clusters and,
with shield at ready,
meet head-on the pulsars’ and quasars’
Then, bright shining as a googol of suns,
I would set my course to the very center
and mindless enter the mind of God.
Easter and Pesach,
their songs of death and journeys,