I Love You

     He had been called in his early youth and had set out for the city to proclaim the destruction awaiting a world that had abandoned its Savior. He proclaimed from the midst of his fury that the world would see the sun burst in blood and fire and while he raged and waited, it rose every morning, calm and contained in itself, as if not only the world, but the Lord Himself had failed to hear the prophet's message. It rose and set, rose and set on a world that turned from green to white and green to white and green to white again. It rose and set and he despaired of the Lord's listening. Then one morning he saw to his joy a finger of fire coming out of it and before he could turn, before he could shout, the finger had touched him and the destruction he had been waiting for had fallen in his own brain and his own body. His blood had been burned dry and not the blood of the world.

                                                             from  The Violent Bear It Away

                                                                                 by Flannery O'Connor

             Sleep

the albatrosses hang dead

emptying like dust into the air

uncoloring these eyes

I have found the will to…

nightmares incarcerating

with sable wings brushing past

think not the sky unchanged

the thing I see behind you

                ( from thy thin bones of all your poor that prop up all your crumbling empires, and over sarcoma landscapes filled with disease and dying under patriotic banners )

wandering masses of masses

religiously violent

donning masks of holy countenance

eastern lie inheritance

with damning taste for alchemy

cauterized of self sufficiency

your numbers are cureless symbols

looping rhythmic complexions

  pale and naked flesh of a dead moon shines upon one last hour…   the faces of nations are chromed in her glow. ( from flag to flag uprooted and soon thrown into perdition )     

                      woe to all the earth

                      woe to those who seek to do evil

                      woe to those that call evil good and good evil

 the carnival:

ushered in upon the dead night air, whispers a music odd

drifting from an empty carousel and languishing on the grass

in waning notes

queer postlude end

      " … life is but a dream "

         " … life is but a dream "

                              Ode to the AC - 130   ( photo courtesy of RAF )