3823. GATHERING STONES TOGETHER

GATHERING STONES TOGETHER

Ecclesiastes has done it, God-damn!

I weather the fierce and  the easy, the

dead Whitman water-stream of old

Camden and the sacred inland harbor

of Kelpius' Cave. It is, over there, where

I stand  -  not here. Though my shadow

reaches, it never really leaves.

-

Listen to those sounds in the air -

all around us the gab and jabber of

creation - while you yet can. Relegate

to no man that privilege. The coin-tossed

war-soldier with his coat of arms and his

chainmail vest, his cannon  -  all, all, all

for naught, and damn him. There is a place

in Hell for those who have killed.

-

Kindred spirits, like us, we smoke no oasis.

We mar no surface with the idle marks of

a graffiti-obsessed world. For all Hell, again,

we are better than that. Better.

-

This morning, Oh Lord, the girl behind the

counter at the routine bagel shop was bursting 

her blouse with huge Summertime breasts and

nearly no clothes at all. I wanted to wonder,

but wandered to leave, buying nothing and

sadly ordering less. Let us gather stones

together. Ecclesiastes has done it, God damn!