must let go of pain … triumph … reputation
…. a light glow, much redemption, falling to the floor. gut-wrenching survival,
screaming inside, heaving for The Witness. an inner Levite, a priestly collar,
a bad theologian—lusting, wrestling, aggravated … a product of perception, a
pictureless man, filled with invisibility. it sounds pathetic, self-loathing,
so genetic, generational, inherited. at the theater, huffing a smile, never
knew how we gather—grapes, figs, loquats, other whatnots. never knew
insignificant becomes significant—so systematic, such laughs, so beautiful. at
times, I see a vision, some remarkable delight, to remember, I, too, am human.
years ago, I immortalized a gem, I kept beauty, despite, disappointment. a holy
sinner, a winning loser, so much connected lately. a tear for Jesus, a wake for
John, a head severed in spirit. I walk further, eat dates, blast a drum, at
guitar—to giggle a little, all alone, another tear. it’s been us, I can’t
fathom, something shifted. I wonder harder, looking for deception, eager to
share a bagel—unleavened, of course. the shewbread, the vats filled with wine,
the blessing of the priests. so fair in angelica, so raw in darkness, so many
women in woman. I would to grin, too heavy, wheezing into a trance: eyes
rolling, head tucked, she never suspected a rose. pure solace—the master’s
chase, a film for the dearly forgotten—whispering these lines, hissing at
aeipathy, hearing metanoia; so convergent, such cogitation, believed as
deceived—listening for the voiceless, ignoring waking snores, at ocean, pier, or
devastation.
