Friday, May 1, 2009

Journal 2 - God's Damp Moon

The moon was cold damp and sad in its wide
eyed following of happy sounds in each other’s
ear. No-one could believe the voices in the coffin
where he lay dead for three whole
a coffin? Why not on the slab of concrete,
where they all die cold and snuffed out like
Eliot’s match flame. The universe has nothing
against the world – nothing but its own selfish
meme to continue living the lie that nothing
really matters. What would matter if all
the world was matter? I find the writing of
quick words easy but no good. I find the shower
the happiest part of the day until dreary sleep
when who knows what will waken us from that
death portent. A cloud in the sky could be
the fluffy head of an elephant or the nasty
lips of a pontoon boat. Maybe the elves left on
purpose and intentionally to rid us of our sickening
dependence. It’s not so bad to depend. It’s crying
time for the children. What is there to cry
about – everything and nothing. When will I hear
God’s voice in the musical noise of the city?


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