Saturday, March 26, 2016


It's 3am on the day before Easter
and I can't figure out a thing. The sky is
dark for this while and the only light
I see is grown from electricity. There's
not a bird to sing. Some guy today was
reading Gospel to me, and said that Jesus
just died for my sins. It was about 4:15.
I told him not to take it so literally, 'we
probably have a few minutes left, you see.'
I hate it when people can't understand
the reasons they give  -  figuring as they
are already that others will understand them.
No, no, man it's not reciprocal and surely then,
this day you shall be with me in Paradise.
The rock and roll savage is up on the stage.
He thinks he can win the moment with noise.
A gyrating crowd is counting big numbers off.
I noticed my dog eating grass again. She'll
have to puke, is all it ever means.
Bishop Tomowaski is up on his stage, this
altar contraption wired now with a metal cross
and some black satin veil, hanging low. It's
mourning time again, in America too. Everyone
wants to sing but they realize they've no one
to serenade. The entire world has gone dark.
I write to claim things.
I write to remember this world.
I write like a travelogue for the stars above.
I will be traveling this deep cosmos again soon.
I write to take possession of my 
one-sided conversation with the world.

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