Under the Firmament   
OVER THE LINE
It is, apparently, intolerable
to millions of Americans (and foreigners)
that a Muslim from Kenya be succeeded in the Presidency
by a Presbyterian from Manhattan.
OVER THE LINE
It is, apparently, intolerable
to millions of Americans (and foreigners)
that a Muslim from Kenya be succeeded in the Presidency
by a Presbyterian from Manhattan.

After many years of experimentation
I have found no reliable method for
imparting magic to my words.
Just like you, however
every once in a while
and in spite of myself
the magic just happens.

Truth pains the suavely deceptive, the worldly
who apparently see its simple revelation--indeed
its very existence--as an affront to good manners, a breach
of their liar's etiquette. Should the weak, the sly, the corrupt
and the amoral plot to destroy you, take heart! You, in all
likelihood, represent something intolerable to them
someone they cannot control with their lies; someone
who reveres the truth. When the torturers come
to "convert" you, when they try to break you
down with their painful cuts, you will
most certainly not bleed to death
you will--as do all preservers
of The Light--
bleed to life.

I was just a lonely boy
And always had I been
The world became a kinder place
When first I met Rosene

She had the most enchanting smile
That I had ever seen
My heart jumped like a salmon's leap
When I first loved Rosene

We lived together many years
That now seem like a dream
Our children grew and then they flew
To tend their pastures green

She fought as hard as she could fight
But fate was cruel and mean
The world became a poorer place
The day it lost Rosene

Some deep-thinker claims
the moon may well be hollow
and shouldn't even be there.
Hard to wax romantic under
a possible alien machine--
be it long abandoned
supply station
or fantastic
dust-covered
Death Star.
Guess this
is what
most folks
would call
"lunacy."

Gather rocks
light the torches
sharpen those pitchforks
take up your clubs,
political "discourse"
has begun.

This doper I once knew conjectured
a theory quite singularly odd;
citing The First Cause's cause to be
most likely at "Assembly of God."

I grow weary of the game.
See you in two weeks.

Exhausted, he stands
waiting in the darkened space that once
was his home; a chilling shroud of desperation
descends upon his being. He dare not even consider
the possibility she will not return--afraid, if he did
he might soon disappear into the emptiness. His
mind whirls about itself and he just keeps thinking:
'Ever present will be her absence; ever absent will be
her presence.' Interminable night becomes endless day.
Eventually, he sits down.

 
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