lightening, grip it like a witch's broomstick and twist
it into a tiny ball of dust, silence in the heavens
on a dark gluttonous day. I have no time for silly
quadropedic misdemeanors heads arched up toward the
sky like bodies sung electric. The rain it is said
conducts the electric bolt the way a crow-bar conducts
pain. I stand in the middle of the storm and the
rain, and laugh at the skies like a starving hyena,
laugh like a ribbed skinny hyena for the rain and
the lightening to slap me and slash me and slice me -
throw me across the back of the earth like a gibbering
holy man, a holy righteous man laughing at the
stormy scowl of the trees and the wet wind in the
dry leaves I stand back arched, laughing at the
lightening bolts erupting around me like distant jagged
spears thrown by that temperamental adulterous Zeus.
You wouldn't know if those were tears or rain that
soaked my cheeks in the mid-day heat. It takes
guts or ignorance to laugh. I laugh often but
ignorance is often capsized in my world. I feel
lost drowning sometimes. And then I find myself
standing on the surface of the water and playing a
short game of soccer with the other man of faith.
The man on the shore with the fish doesn't laugh.
And I sink in the sea like a flooded engine block.
I twist the lightening in my mind to elucidate the
gravitational pull; the gravitational pull is nearly
irresistible next to massive objects. My mind is
twisted by massive questions of mediocre care -
leaves in the gutter and spaghetti monsterians. The
world is against us the World is against us the
old world is with us like the new world is
gasping in its eyeless squalor. Eyes are the visors
of the windows of other souls. Eyes invite the external
into our internal world. My eyes are being tested
by the pileated woodpecker. The tones of home
sound like children on the football field trying to
start a fight for the flighty eyes of another pretty
physicist.
6.7.09
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