Slain am I by this laser intention
that sliced in half a competing volition
a powerful coil ready to spring
from flesh to flesh and cling
regardless of circumspection
to realize desire’s possession.
Slain am I by this accurate arrow
that scooped up along the narrow
shaft the ego-desires pulsating
eager to form into a hackneyed painting
and pinned them deadly instead
into remembrance’s reed-bed.
Slain am I by the cloak embracing
velvet heavy desire’s shadow tracing
drawn back revealing a beam
of white gold light that streams
and floods and fills and kills
ego-Bacteria that would roam still.
Slain am I by the sledge-hammer mercy
affording Light the cutting courtesy
to shine light upon light and therefore
reveal the original melodic score
of the sibilant song of
Alast
sung when this turning heart did burst.
Slain am I into wordlessness
bewildered by Truth’s wholeness
this lump of mouthy muscle stilled
in rose-garden awe and yet spilled
helplessly onto this pixel page
a scented postcard to Love’s sage.
(Ramadan, Brooklyn, 2013)
No comments:
Post a Comment