Amid A Dreary Visage

Be free and so your will

Until upon the puzzle we,

Destined to be fused

Between nature and its image,

Blending all the light that’s seen

Thru a glass, to the eye,

As through a door, a width of warmth,

The smell of oak and burning thus

Morphing wood to exit-dust.


Why do we arrive early

To this barren field? To dig

These hidden dreams, be them art or fact,

Where desire meets virtue—

The two meet, kickingly.

High upon a dissection of

The part of you that puts upon an act

And the part of whom this act is put upon, take note:

How I gesture, in that I gesture,

Aware of the common spark that causes gesture;

To be of the world, and to be in the world,

Ha! That’s the causer.


Who signs my soliloquy

Then pains my eyes just before the debut?

Who serves chief as veil upon the face?

Dancing thru the allegory,

He who absorbs the Sun, casts

Scattered shadows too quick to call them doom.


Who attends the party, and, lacking no wit

On slithering tongue

Wets the air they breathe with toxic rumors,

Shifting the general ear to blossom doubt,

As to trick my memory into putting them on its shelves

and call it truth.


He who was sent, to embolden my eternal question

Upon who’s false coil the answer sits.

“Patience,” I bid you.

The horizons that he prophesied are tiles underfoot.

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