|
Voice of
the Hawk
Drinking Beauty was a squaw in the days when
the Lenni Lenape grazed this hill, and it was her father, Voice of the Hawk, who named this place Manayunk. Manayunk
means Where I Go To Drink, and Voice of the Hawk named it thus when he was just a boy. He had
been wandering alone away from camp one small day when he discovered a spot by the banks here where the river water was cleaner,
crisper, dulceter, and deliciouser than anything he had ever tasted. All the river was good then, potable
and pure, more a crystal aqua than the sullied brown of now; but he had found a point within the purity that was lovelier
than all, that was truly rare, that seemed to have its own special source far below. A glint of light had
caused him to notice the spot, and indeed, when he drank the water he felt like he was drinking liquid light, swallowing wet
beams of the Sun. He felt holy, like he was being suffused by some strange, powerful force.
Later he would compare it to Love. Still later, Death. Well it got so that young
Voice of the Hawk was sneaking off every day to drink the water, to sate his mouth, nose, throat, and soul completely.
Then he wanted more, and more. He stayed longer. He went twice a day, then three
times, then four, and all the tribe was wondering where was Voice of the Hawk going and what was he doing? Finally
they caught him crawling out his hut just before dawn. They encircled him and they demanded to know where
it is he is always going. Voice of the Hawk was trembling, scared to tell his secret, but he felt compelled
by the crowd of others to speak. Mnynk, he mumbled. What? they yelled. It
is Manayunk! he screamed. Take us, they commanded. Voice of the Hawk
did, and this was the beginning.
Voice of the Hawk’s
Poem of the Grass
Written in a former life and
said to have been penned in fondness for the
Kojiki.
Behold! A New God visible!
Behold! A New God in the grass!
Behold! Rejoice! Laugh!
A naked Goddess sleeping!
Voice of the Hawk’s Other Poem of the
Grass
Written in a future life
and said to have been penned in
fondness for the Man’yoshu.
Manhood I
who love the swollen breasts
of
holiness, the writhes of rising trees,
the bouncing
heads of prancing horses,
and all these forces
I am learning to control,
who hold the soar and
burrow in me
like a sword and dagger, O I for whom
she who rides the sorrel is true guide
at the behest of our sensuous God.
Plush fertile curiosa!
Aureola
of truth, everywhere.
Summer lies about me
while all things linger
ere
they flee.
The
Yellow Green Lane Bridge
This is the bridge that holds
the vision
of Venus chasing the
Moon, and that story goes like this.
The
Goddess of Love and Beauty went seeking satiety
and
she went to the God of Power and Force
and they
lusted, and it was good, but when it was done she
felt this vague, uncertain something missing,
so
she went to the God of War, and they lusted, and it was good
but again she felt this something missing
so she went to the God of Light and even to some men,
and then to Goddesses like Aphrodite and Isis,
and then to exotic, erotic mortal women,
but there was always this something
so finally she went to Zeus, God of Gods, Champion of Gods,
and they lusted, and all the heavens trembled
as they writhed, all the heavens plucked and twined
with each gentle touch, with each breath,with each flick and lick, all worlds shook
with each gyration, with every motion,with every thrust all eternity took
the rolling waves, powerful and sublime.
O it was Lovely and Beautiful
but to Venus there was still this vague something
so yet again she went somewhere else.
But this angered the mighty ego of mighty Zeus
so he convinced Hermes to convince Venus the Moon had the powers
she was seeking. So
she took wingéd flight
but
Zeus fixed it so that she would never reach the Moon
locking
her in a gravity from which no god or planet can escape
and
now Venus she chases the Moon forever.
The Pleiades
I don’t buy any of those myths.
Atlas’
seven daughters turned into stars,
eight
wise men thinking, seven sisters fleeing Coyote,
six
boys aplaying, a band of dancing children, five golden rings,
I don’t buy any of those things.
I take them and with madness gleaming from my azure eyes
roll them like die into the blue-black carpeted
festively bespectacled holy holy sky.
I wait long with a now fixéd, now vague gaze for truth to
appear.
I wade centuries, generations,
seasons, sunsets, moons,
O so
many deep, amorphous, throbbing hours,
I
anticipate fate. The turn comes:
tenthousand
ones!
Ha!
I
always been lucky.
I leave with
what I won stuffed in my back pocket
including
the simple, formidable lesson
eternity
always changes.
Lauren
I come to you sweet secret in the night
One
abyss behind me, another in front
Supplicant
to all the Holies, with you as avatar
Haven and
respite for those aweary of the fight
I come to you sweet secret
of the night
On the verge of undoing
myself, outcacooning
Getting out
of the canoe, putting it down, and walking away
Through
you, to you, with you, in the divinity of the sacred light
I come to you sweet secret,
for the night
Is black and empty
and I feel great, gaunt fright
At
the sight of terror I cannot comprehend
One abyss
behind me, another in front
Supplicant to all the Holies,
with you as comfort
And heavenly
respite for those aweary of the flight
Sweet secret, I come to you like the night
Drinking
Beauty
Voice of the Hawk was just turning gray one Moon When The
Cherries Turn Black when his wife, Ears of Ten Deer, gave birth to a girl. Since it was incumbent upon
Voice of the Hawk to name the newborn, he of renowned naming acumen in a tribe where naming was revered strode to the infant
in a manner Gods and men admire. A white tinted, broad wingéd, eagle-eyed hawk escorted his walk,
and its energy penetrated him and went with him as he entered the uterine hut. Chanting aloud to Manitto
he traveled a circle around the unnamed child and stopping he gazed awhile possessed by the darkness of her pupils and trembling
he lifted her up to the holy holy sky. After a crescendo of inaudible laughter he said, “Drinking
Beauty!” And Drinking Beauty grew to be the most beautiful woman any Lenape had ever seen or dreamed
about. And her light brought the tribe together and gave them a great, just pride. But
the unanimity and unification fractured when men began to ponder why she had the name she did. Her huge,
rouge lips are the reason for her name, said Walks Same Time Each Day. The glow they exude can come only
from lips that are drinking beauty. Her lips are cinnamon, argued Airs of Turtle, and they are not the
reason for her name. The referent for her name is the person who sees her, for whoever sees Drinking Beauty
is drinking beauty. Others took sides, and splinters and factions arose proclaiming her eyes,
and the eyes of Voice of the Hawk, and more. Once they went and asked Voice of the Hawk, but to no avail,
as he just gave a queer, quizzical smile, shook his head, and walked away muttering under his breath. The
conflict persisted, and it reached a head one afternoon when Walks Same Time Each Day and Airs of Turtle were arguing in the
center of camp. People gathered and the two took to screaming and more people gathered so they took to
pushing and shoving and when near the whole tribe was there they took to silver knives. Voice of the Hawk
got wind of the event and straightaway sent Drinking Beauty thru the parting sea of Lenape right to the space between the
blades. She stood, silence came, endurance, sighs, the knives disappeared, and by and by the entire
tribe dispersed, Drinking Beauty last, without a word being spoken. It is said she married a man her father
nicknamed White Cousin, and that their blood still flows thru these parts today.
Voice
of the Hawk Smells and Tastes the Future
One day the Schuykill smelled sort of strange.
Voice of the Hawk stopped, slightly stunned. He sniffed. Something was the matter.
He put one drop of the river water on his fingertip, smelled it, tasted it, swallowed it, and on the next day led the
Lenni Lenape away from this beautiful hill forever.
Voice of the Hawk’s Death Verse
It being reported that Voice of the Hawk etched these words on stone, ventured unseen into the sepulchral
woods, and died.
Spirit Soar Earth Winter Hibernation
I hawk up phlegm no more.
Each life seeds another.
Church
of a God Turnt Ghost
Sitting on the silver stone steps of St. John’s Church
one lithe and idle hour,
An organ
of madness, a Bachian adagian organ
Of
sublime, dark, unwordable rapture
Drew
me in
Thru the doors
Of piercing fear
And I stept
Softly,
slowly, silently,
Until I was
beneath the balcony of praise
And
I stopt to listen because I stood to learn
More
joy for being held within the mind and blood of God,
When
suddenly the organist’s throat began to wail
Some
Hinduesque chant, some arcane cant
Of
a man in private meditation,
In
deferent, wild love.
Conscious
of the discrepancies between Gods, conscious of fleet, vile time,
And conscious that I was an invasive, eavesdropping presence
On this personal, beautiful grace,
I left,
And I went
To
the bridge that holds the vision
And
after suffering bliss with the winds
In
one of the aged, elegant, yellow archways,
I
trekked the tracks over the river and gazing from some woods
Watched the organist’s waves reverberate about the timeless sky,
Aware that he is he, It is It, Deus Es Natura, you are you, and I, O I am I.
Orion’s Belt
What’s Orion’s
Belt without Orion?
O who am I
and what am I in? Or
Am
I out? What is going on? I roar:
What is happening? Where, O where, is Orion?
I am three stars in a corner of the Universe
Who once was found, but now I’m lost, and worse
Than that, sometimes I forget I’m even gone.
I am Orion’s Belt without Orion.
Who’s Orion’s Belt without Orion?
Who’s
not? O I can holler all I want
But I have this stirring intuition
Everyone
is Orion’s Belt sans Orion.
I just heard: Orion
was slain by Dawn!
Now who will
pick me up and put me on?
JIM
THISISYOURVERSIONANDIGIVEITTOYOUTOGIVETOYOURS
ONTHATHESHALLGIVEITTOHISSONANDSOFORTHANDS
OONTHEREISNOLOVELIKETHELOVEOFABROTHERFORABR
OTHEROKTHELOVEOFAFATHERFORASONCANBESAIDTOB
ELIKETHELOVEOFABROTHERFORABROTHERANDTHELOVE
OFASONFORAFATHERCANBESAIDTOBELIKETHELOVEOFA
BROTHERFORABROTHERANDOKTHELOVEOFAFRIENDFOR
AFRIENDCANBESAIDTOBELIKETHELOVEOFABROTHERFOR
ABROTHERANDEVENTHELOVEOFAFRIENDOFAFATHERFOR
THEFATHERSSONCANBESAIDTOBELIKETHELOVEOFABROT
HERFORABROTHERBUTREALLYTHEREISNOLOVELIKETHELO
VEOFABROTHERFORABROTHERGIVENTHATTHEREISNOLOV
EOFABROTHERFORABROTHERLIKEMYLOVEFORYOUORYOU
RLOVEFORMEOKLIFEISANEXPERIMENTANDWECHOOSEWH
ATGAMESTOPLAYWHETHERITBEBASKETBALLCOMPUTERSC
HESSLACROSSEPOETRYBUSINESSACADEMIAHIDEANDSEEK
ORWHATEVERTHEREISNOARTWITHOUTSCIENCENORISTHER
EANYSCIENCEWITHOUTARTANYMORETHANTHEREISTHISFO
RMTHISMETHODTHISSTATEMENTTHISEXPERIMENTWITHTH
UMBSSOMEMAYINTERPRETTHEMEANINGBUTNOONEWILLF
EELEXACTLYWHATWEFEELYETSTILLTHEYWHOWILLCALLUSA
NCESTORSMAYINTUITSOMETHINGOFTHEEXPERIENCEWHER
EASTHEMAJORITYOFTHEHISTORYOFTHEWORLDASWEKNOW
ITDOESNOTKNOWITASWEANDTHEYWILLKNOWITKEVINAND
JIMWEREOURNAMESJIMANDKEVINWEREOURNAMESANDYO
UTHATREADTHISNOWREMEMBERTHATAMANLOVEDHISBR
OTHERMORETHANHECOULDSAYANDMORETHANYOUAND
THEWORLDKNEWANDAFTERYOUREMEMBERTHATTAKETHAT
FACTANDMAKEAPACTWITHYOURSELFTOCONTINUEONINTH
EINEFFABLYBEAUTIFULTRADITIONASFORUSWEAREGOINGTOP
LAYTHEGAMEOFLIFEASIFTHISWERETHELASTCHANCEWEEVER
GOTTOPLAYTOGETHER
Then
Of Time
Time for song, is it then, time for a dirge
For all these dead gods, time for a hymn
For all these live gods, time for a prayer
For the Goddess who is coming?
But how can it
be time when time is dead?
Now that time is over it is
time,
For only in timelessness
can a true God come.
So say a
prayer from your knees, in your home, everyone
Bow
to the glory of her beauty who is coming
To change
the world as we knew it.
How time became over is for the philophysicistsers.com,
So don yu werry bout nothen. Now
there’s space to breathe
And You, you who are coming,
Know that I love you more than
I love myself
And that I love
myself more than I love the day,
And
the day more than the night,
And
the night more than eternity itself.
And Love the world more than I love you.
To A Man I Love
I have had as many failures in my life as successes, and this book, too, may very well be
a masked failure. It may even be an unmasked failure. I failed you more than once, and
you I care about, and I care about few things--therefore I have necessarily failed in most things. I am
even failing now in this stuttering attempt to communicate with you.
You scare me because I love you--
But
that I have known you and will know you forever is a success.
No
man is completely devoid of some victory in life—
You know these computers hurt
my eyes, Thomas.
I turn off the
lamp in favor of candles, so the computer light is the
Strongest, really the most dangerous light of all.
And light is as dangerous as truth, and almost as sharp--
How come I got all these voices in me trying to get out?
How come I got all these voices in me tryen to get out?
Do you know what I am trine to say, Thomas?
If
you do, tell me, because I am still uncertain myself.
If this book were not for the
whole world…
The mad monotony of the sound of ceaseless running water fills
my brain
And, aye, therefore my
long tongue, like the madness were raindrops
And
I was sticken my tongue out in a thunderstorm
And
laughing to my Self in the wind.
Do you know I love you more
than I am capable of fulfilling?
That’s
not true of all men, is it Thomas, or of any man all the time?
It is you in a Book of the Gods.
Woman
Woman, WOMAN, woman,
You are more beautiful than the day itself,
I
hum at the end of the night,
You are more beautiful than
the sea and the sky,
You are
more beautiful than yourself, because you do not realize
You
are more beautiful than the beauty you size.
Beauty is an idea, you are
a woman,
Fragrant, fertile, alive.
Your eyes change colors in front of my eyes—
I don’t have to think about that.
I hum at the end of the night,
You
are more beautiful than your very own light.
Let the haughty history of
judgment pass,
For all its glorious
praise, none of it has seen you
And therefore it
has been deficient.
I praise you who are more beautiful than the day itself,
I hum at the end of the night,
You are more beautiful than yourself.
The End of Time
And God said, Come, let us
come,
Let us come up from out
of the essence
Of our being, and
grow like seeds that sense
The fate of flowers.
Come,
Let us endure electric fear, let us march staunchly
thru the throbbing
empty nothingness like we have nothing to lose.
We
understand the obligations, and choose to be audacious, and accomplish what we would not have otherwise accomplished.
Come,
God said, Come, let us penetrate into unknown realms, because it is true
What that Man said, You never step into the same stream twice.
Come let us delve, let us experiment
with other languages, other tongues,
Other
realms, because we do not know the details of what awaits us
And
neither do we care, because we know what to care about—
Come,
Listen to what I
am saying.
There are truths hidden behind everything
As etymologies essence words. It IS up to GOD,
because I am God,
You are Goddess,
and we make of the hour what the hour is made of.
GOD
is everything, GOD is all.
Come, let us acknowledge and homage with our lust
And love like only lovers such as us can love.
Come,
It is all waves, and I always
want every wave to continue forever.
Forever
and ever, I want forever and forever for you and I to come
Up from out the essence of our being, and surge forth
With eternity as if this is our only opportunity ever.
Come,
This is the end of
time, and we know it.
Fleetingness
is, but death shall not do us part.
It
is up to GOD whether anyone knows it or not.
This
is the power of the Word:
Selah.
COMELETUSDOWHATWEWANT
COMELETUSSHIRKOURRESPONSIBILITIESANDGAZEATTHE
SMILEOFTHESUNUPONTHELEAVESINSPRINGFORANAFTER
NOONCOMELETUSWANDERWHEREWEWANTANDNOTW
HEREOTHERSWOULDNECESSARILYHAVEUSGOCOMELETU
SGOYONDERUPONTHEHILLSIDEANDSPEAKINWHATEVER
LANGUAGEWEWANTWHATISTHEDIFFERENCEBETWEENTH
EOBLIGATIONSOFSOCIETYANDTHEDESIRESOFSELFPLEASU
RECOMELETUSSEEKTHEJOYOFSPRINGINTHEGLITTEROFTH
EYELLOWONTHEGREENANDTHESCENTTHATDOESNOTCO
METOOOFTENCOMELETUSCLOSEOUREYESBREATHEANDS
MELLWHATEVERRIPEAROMASGODWOULDGIVEGODGIVES
ANDGIVESANDGIVESSOCOMELETUSDOTHESAMELETUSGIV
ETHEDAYANDOURDESIRESOURFULLESTATTENTIONWITHO
UTFEELINGWRETCHEDINSIDIOUSGUILTTHEDIFFERENCEISW
HATEVERWEMAKEITSOCOMELETUSMAKEUSDIFFERENTAND
DOFORGODANDTHEWORLDTHATWHICHWELOVEMOSTTO
DOTODOISNOTTOWORRYIFYOUARELATEFORYOURAPPOINT
MENTBECAUSEYOUBATHEDYOURLOVERINANOINTMENTIT
ISJUSTIFIEDTHEANOINTMENTOFBLESSEDNESSUPONSUCHC
REATURESASWECOMESINFULFILLINGOUROBLIGATIONSTO
OURSELVESIFOUROBLIGATIONSARETOSOCIETYTHENSOBEIT
ANDIFOUROBLIGATIONSTOTHEWORLDCOMMENCEWITHO
UROBLIGATIONSTOLOVESOBEITCOMELETUSFULFILLOUROB
LIGATIONSANDNEVEREVERREGRETATHING
Sweeter
Secret
Death shall not do us part…
It’s two a.m. Wednesday, you’re asleep round the time
Of the red lunar eclipse in the
days of the white Asian Comet
And I know we share
a secret.
What are you dreaming
as I write
in the middle of the middle of the holy holy night?
Am I writing what you dream?
Are you dreaming what I write?
We LOVE each other more than we can say.
GOD is on our side, and more than we know or can say.
SWEET tragic secret truth is with us now and forever
WET TIMELESS NATURE
Hardly knows our names, but what is that to us?
Do you get my drift?
The TRUTH is I love you
And I would toss this little book into the brook,
and none of that would change.
The world is leaning,
and I am leaning
With it, but I dont know how.
This is your version, typed the day we planted Two Reeds,
And your version is our prayer.
Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus,
Safety,
sunlight, and soil, be on our side.
Selah!
Holy Holy Holy God
of Power and Light,
Deus sive
Natur,
Mother,
Erde,
O Goddess of Safety, Sunlight, and Soil,
Be with us now.
Selah!
There are many gods and
goddesses,
And there have been
many gods and goddesses,
As there
will be many gods and goddesses,
But
all gods and goddesses serve GOD.
GOD
serve us now.
Selah!
May the angels of Big Chief
In The Sky be on our side,
And
may we be on theirs.
May the angels
of Dionysos swarm in sufficient proximity,
And
fertility be our rule.
May the
angels of the Earth return to Her thru us,
And
water comingle with light like whores in a radical orgy.
Selah!
This is our prayer, Paul and Kevin's, Holistic K,
May the spirit of Two Reeds prosper.
Come,
Let Us Pray
Hallelujah, hollay luya, holl ay lu ya.
Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus,
Selah, selah, selah.
Come let us pray,
And in our praying let us not supplicate, or beg, or anything like that,
Rather let us praise, cause praise is the origin
of pray, and we love origins.
GOD
ES MAS K LO MAY HORE POR K S TAY S TA TOE
DOSELIKETHEMOONGODTHROBSSOFAROUTOFOU
RHISTORYTHATITISIRRELEVANTANDRIDICULOUSEN
OUGHTOMAKEADEATHROWINMATECHUCKLEUN
DERHISBREATHGODPULSESLIKETHESOUNDOFACRY
STALBROOKTWINKLINGBENEATHMYEXHALATION
ASILISTENTOACDSINGINGCHORALLVBGODALLOW
SYOUTOREADTHISANDAPPRECIATETHESLOWNESSA
NDETERNALITYOFBEINGBESTYOUCANCOMELETUSP
RAYTOGETHERBECAUSEWEHAVEASIMILARLYSENSU
ALSENTIMENTABOUTFORMSOFBEINGTHEPERIODISU
NDERSTOODGODGIVESUSBREAKSWHENWENEEDTH
EMGODGIVESUSSEXINTHENIGHTANDINTHEDAYAN
DWHENEVERTHEYMAYCOMEWHOCOMEINTHENA
MEOFTHECOMINGGODDESSSHALLBEFINEWITHMEY
EATHOIBEDEADBECAUSEISHALLHAVEVENTUREDIN
TOTHECOMINGSOIKNOWTHATTHEREISNOSUCHTH
INGASTIMEGODGIVESUSOURDAILYBREADOURTASK
ISNOTTOASKFORITBUTTOEARNITGODRECEIVESWHAT
WEPERMITGODRECEIVESTHESOUNDOFOURBLOODLI
KETHENIGHTTAKESINTHESOUNDOFWATERANDWO
MANINTUSSUSCEPTSMANGODRECEIVESTHETHROB
GODKNOWSTHEONETONGUECUMLETSPRAYALLAYL
EWYASONKTUSSAYL
Nothing came, and I was dismayed.
But then something came, and I was happy.
The space between the lines remembers the history of a life
and anticipates a future.
That is to say, it is midnight in the summer
and
a world's at play.
You never know what a day is going to hold.
Do not let the expectation diminish the experience.
You never know what a day is going to give.
You never know what a day is going to give.
Do not let the expectation alter the experience.
Art is live and it shows
Reality
enframed.
Then
I went to a bar, a bar of many bars in Manayunk, Manayunk,
Where I Go To Drink,
And
I sat at the bar aware of many hours
In
Manayunk, unk,
And drank eternity
in every gulp of ale I drunk, drunk,
Kerplunk.
In Manayunk
I went to a bar to ponder the hour of hours
I was with her, and we made love
Like the frequencies of alterations
At one with time.
We were so at one with time
We realized there was no such thing as time.
And all this time they thought there was such a thing as time!
We made love at dawn
In Manayunk
I hear the tenthousand voices
in tongues at a bar
And the strange
thing is they're whispering.
Hallelujah,
Hail Elijah, Hail Alla,
This is
my destination, this is my bar,
At least for an hour this
is
So
I left and I went
To live in the
woods with a beautiful woman
And
await the coming of god.
We make
fires, we eat meals, we walk, we talk, we joke, we lament,
we sleep, we shower, we make love,
And all the while I am awaiting the coming god.
She laughs at me, my wife. She hasn't had
a god since her brother died.
She
doesn't really see it. What I see is her, The New God.
"I see the New God within you."
I see four hills in the distance. I let her laugh
at me
All the while realizing
that the coming god is in her
That
she represents, that she is an avatar of the new god, who is
Beautiful,
Lovely, Harmonious.
All
These Gods
Dead Gods, live Gods, all these Gods--
I think that the next God is a Goddess.
Fling this fragment, you, this shard, You,
this sharp segment of my anger,
my contempt for the superficial miscreants and stupid shits of the world
who do not understand the word.
This
is her world—
Dead Goddesses, live Goddesses, coming
Goddesses,
all these Goddesses,
and still she needs a man, a poet, someone who can
understand--
Hand me to her and my anger subsides in favor of
astonishment at the raw primal Beauty inherent in her bent.
And she even laughs.
Christ
replaced a century after his death—
This
is her world.
Live Goddess, Goddess coming, Goddess here,
and I cannot say your name.
Yahweh old man blesses you like Buddha's bliss and Allah,
Big Chief in the Sky approve of you come from Harmonia,
You gather up the ways of the gods,
Yours is the regeneration of eternity, the death of time,
This is your world and you are our god, our goddess,
our avatar of GOD.
Harmony Chaos
Live, overture, underture, ..., side
bar, to be sure,
But never let
it be said that our consciousness could not be construed,
America on the verge of a new God, a new Goddess, to be
specific,
Our minds ever rolling
like the Heraclitean Mississippi River,
We
who tremble thru each moment propelled by an emotion
that keeps us always at the edge of the surge of a new tear,
Electrical existence in our veins,
let us be understood:
We stood at the nerve of
a new, unheralded and misunderstood, underrepresented God.
And we knew she was a Goddess,
and we rejoiced,
Because she was,
because she was a Goddess, and because
Our
legacy to the world would be one unified voice.
America's laws permitted the arrival of a new god,
encouraged it, birthed it
And
such a deed worthies saying.
Because
is why, now and forever, so never let it be said that why is unknown to anyone including us.
And in the rain I heard a haiku about the rain.
Dew rises on the world every hour, every second, every millimoment,
Tenthousand times. Tenthousand lives
Cross every life tenthousand times every electronic instant.
"Nathless" America made
itself understood, and I have stood
Beneath
a flag of the thirteen colonies and been proud.
Goddess,
remember us, you eternal femme, remember us as those who knew you,
Before you came, during, and after, who helped you come, who enjoyed your coming, who endured it, and
who savored it after it came. And we will remember you the same.
22
amid the chaos and the glory there can
be such gory fucken pain.
the pleasure of pain
is with me now no more than the pain of pleasure.
so be the wind and turning
seasons, so be the beauty of the burning reasons.
yea
tho the computer can be taught how to learn, god is coming like a woman.
such histrionics i have never experienced in all my lives
as i experience in this continual evolution of being on earth in sun of milky way.
circa tenthousand.
son
of bochangson not know now what he know later.
how does it make you feel that
there is no time and a new goddess is coming.
how
does it feel to know she is coming before her time.
it hurts and i like it, it
pleases and i despise it.
what's
a man to do.
ha, ha. truth is moonie ha ha. truth is a minnie ha ha, and we are all to
blame.
yea tho the wind reacts perfectly to its nature,
man does too.
circa tenthousand.
how does it feel not to know. how does it feel not to know.
i know that i dont know now, and i know that somethings i will never know.
so. so what. whatsoever may occur
in this year of our lord, so be it.
and i will not contradict my
contradictory nature in determining what it is.
and
i will eliminate my i in the process, and my i will not even know it.
selah, selah, selah.
SELAH,
SELAH, SELAH.
Me I live in the woods with my beautiful wife And this, this is the version that I put together last night
And you who glean the meaning of the trtptych hold the knife.
Then I left Manayunk an enemy of time
Befitting a poet concerned with the gods, befitting a poet reviled
By the superartificiality exposed in summer light.
Ha! What is that to me? I chant in the woods with
my beautiful wife
And let it go,
let it go. let it go as it goes,
As
it goes, so it goes, so it goes.
There's a new god acomen
There's a new god a cummin, can't you see,
She's comin round the mountain as she comes,
She's comin round the mountain as she comes,
There's a new god a coming, can't you see?
There's a new god acummin as she please.
And I am humbly praying at her knees,
Looking up at the dulcet region of the holy
Where legions of soldiers throughout history
Have bowed in supplication to the seas
And seas of peace She brings. My piece I give
To the world: She is coming
Credits
Poet,
Kevin Boyle
Muse, Lauren Newman
Paper, Mi-Teintes Canson
Font, Prose Antique
Table of Contents Image, Reproduction From Cicero’s Cato Major,
Philadelphia, Benjamin Franklin,
MDCCXLIV
Center Image,
Reproduction
From Camillo Agrippa’s Trattato di scientia d’arme,Rome, Blado,
MDLIIIPrinter,
Bo Changson © No. 1 Of
an edition Of 21 variable bindings
Full Court Press Philadelphia MCMXCIV
|
