dirty damp
seaweed moss,
i feel
drowned,
engulfed
within
myself.
tell me
who died
on that cross
i already know
long ago
when we lived
in the cove
when he arose
now he spoke
only in my rose
as the crooked head
bows over in limped
sadness glory over
the home it once had
the heart
once valid
now a vitality
to dual process
of in and out
a church organ
plays somewhere
i'm sure
though my ear
cannot hear
and they tell
the child
to play in
the nature
and it can't
be done
and who is it
who does such
madness
as to kill
a child
born or
unborn
still,
it renders
not the same
reaction
in reply.
fires,
flames,
dire
disappearing
airplanes.
disgusting
men in suits
walking around
walk street
hoot hoot hoot
who gives
the Owl
the call
for the final
arm chair?
I am through
falling through
such cracks
of man made
material.
I await
the only
God coming
through the
crack in this
ugly earth
and the only
glue holding
it together
are the animals
and his kingdom
of nature
and that too
is being
destroyed
mano y mano
wipe thy nose
the crow
is calling
it's catcall
noone hears
when death nears.
But the Raven
draws it's
knitting gear
near.
Mother and I
knew the altitude.
We saw them,
lined up
all of the
black birds
lined on
the fenceposts.
Death is near.
Mercy has no fear.
And i no longer
do either,
and go through
slow motion
only to appear
in the glass mirror,
it says,
i am
i am
i must
still be hear,
for whatever
reasons,
i have yet
to hear
and will
not ever
hear.
May never
know.
At that
beginning
point,
i thought
there was
a cause,
a reason,
a justificaton
for all the pain
i was going through,
but as i go on
further deep
in my own
inner landscape
my own cove
i sink in,
i see nothing,
but closed doors
and no relevance
for my life anymore
and one by one
they take
from me
they
come
to my
door
of poverty
and yet,
still,
beg
borrow
steal
from me!
robbers
theives!
and,
my own
child,
still,
only
child
they
make
up the
rules
as they
go along
and she
knows
the truth
but i am
holding on
by this string
and the
it's stirring
in me
this
upholding
arising
flood
of fury
that will
not stop
the hurry
of death
because
this life
has stolen
everyone
and
everything
of love
of life
of color
from me
and I,
seek
only
God
and
he
will
not
receive
my call.
And I
hang up
and then
i leave
the receiver
on the table
and it
beeps
beeps
beeps....
into
nothingness
sickness
stained
brooding
pain
scratches
blood lines
where i
merely
re-marked
the spots
where mother's
scars are
and where
i shall
put the
purple cross
and then
he spared
the child
but to
whom
to whom
the bell
does
not
toll
for
such
non
angelic
soul
keepers
i am
destroyed
but must
wait in
my fatal
years
to watch
the end
slowly
disappear
into
it's
usual
deliverance
of pathos
and
severance
of any
sort
of
happiness
in the soul
or spirit
until
my body
rests
in
death.
