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.