> Poem for the End of Time

Poem for the End of Time

Par |2018-08-18T01:07:11+00:00 21 juin 2012|Catégories : Blog|

For Damon Tomblin

 

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
On apo­ca­lypse waves of sca­lene dreams
I rode past in cha­riots across the val­leys
Tore a hole in my des­ti­ny
It was weird and cold and dark there

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
The B on fire the R on fire the double O on fire like breasts
Pulled apart by bur­ning clamps
K the K of The Trial and what have I done
The L the old emp­ty El not car­ting back my grand­fa­ther
To his wife of a WWII gre­nade and shards of vio­lins
The Y o Y Y Y did I look into those gyp­sy eyes
It was weird and cold and dark there
The N the N of my name sin­ging
God is here God is here God is here
Singing may all my ene­mies go to hell
Noel  Noel  Noel  Noel

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
There were jars tur­ning black in my neigh­bo­rhood
I saw smoke rising from them in my neigh­bo­rhood
I was not stu­pid, my eyes were not blind
But Y o Y did I look back, pillar of Morton’s salt
Why did I bend to taste the sod­den grass of the soul
Why did I leave You to go to that place
It was weird and cold and dark there
The Holy Spirit was there but I could not see it
It was dark­ly blue shi­ning but I could not see it

Gaze as reve­rent­ly into another’s eyes as if you were
Looking at the gates of hell Franz K says
As if stan­ding before the gates of hell Kafka says

In my neigh­bo­rhood I kno­cked at the gate
In my neigh­bo­rhood the ans­wer was yes
In my neigh­bo­rhood I ente­red no lon­ger an Innocent
In my neigh­bo­rhood I became one of them one of them

No lon­ger rin­sed in the blue space of flames
I became one of them my neigh­bo­rhood my neigh­bo­rhood 

Someone rides on a train in my neigh­bo­rhood
Someone hangs off a fire escape in my neigh­bo­rhood
The buil­dings sway ever so slight­ly in wind

The first time I left my neigh­bo­rhood God wept
When I retur­ned the sun­sets were blood

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
The por­tal to my sixth sense pried open
The por­tal my sixth sense pride open and open
I don’t think it will ever shut now
Opened and ope­ned my neigh­bo­rhood my neigh­bo­rhood
Every second was a wal­king dream
Every minute was a tal­king spell
Every hour an apo­ca­lypse wave on a sca­lene dream

Now I’m rowing, rowing, the awful rowing
The rowing of penance the rowing through all its stages
I tore a hole in my des­ti­ny
I left You my des­ti­ny
It was weird and cold and dark there

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
      Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
Death is a mas­ter from Bensonhurst
Death is a mas­ter from Avenue M

A dog licks the sores of a cen­tu­ry
Lazarus, Lazarus who will be the mas­ter of the house ?
Who will be the dark fun­ny gyp­sy whir­ling across
The sca­lene dreams of my apo­ca­lypse neigh­bo­rhood
Telling my future to the lau­ghing moon ?
My inno­cence, where is it ?
I tore a hole in my des­ti­ny

A whole in my des­ti­ny
My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
I brought you the Holy Spirit my neigh­bo­rhood
On index cards I pain­ted them blue my neigh­bo­rhood
God smi­led on my neigh­bo­rhood
The Creator gave me a shot of His pre­sence my neigh­bo­rhood
So as to gra­ti­fy my year­ning for Him my neigh­bo­rhood
Now go and do like­wise my neigh­bo­rhood my neigh­bo­rhood

America your poets flock to my neigh­bo­rhood
Your beau­ti­ful woun­ded birds to my neigh­bo­rhood
Your Holy Spirits
My des­ti­ny wraps around me like a fence my neigh­bo­rhood
A fence that I will never climb my neigh­bo­rhood
Bells toll in my neigh­bo­rhood
Books are bur­ning in my neigh­bo­rhood
Candles are used for fucking people in my neigh­bo­rhood
Why did I bend to taste the sod­den grass in my neigh­bo­rhood
The sca­lene waves riding over the ceme­te­ries
And we will have to get down on all 4s
And we will have to get down on all 4s
And we will have to get down on all 4s and eat those grasses
For ever and ever
Amen

In my neigh­bo­rhood I drea­med of you as a child
I drea­med you sat on my bed smi­ling at me with a gui­tar
Damon Daemon Damiano
You were my fate
You were my fate
Our fate was joy
How to trans­late this
How to trans­pose it
How to trans­cend it
To trans­fi­gure it
Grasses grasses
Which blades to lick

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
In my neigh­bo­rhood I drea­med of you as a child
O Viking man with a gui­tar
Hands of gold, hands of myr­rh

Fingers full of blood and wee­ping
Fingers full of vir­gins and end­less wee­ping
Weeping as Rachel weeps she will not be com­for­ted
My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
With my visions visions visions
Of skull shat­te­red mar­tyrs in Laramie, Wyoming
On a sun­ny after­noon

This cra­zy govern­ment my neigh­bo­rhood
With its rituals and spells my neigh­bo­rhood
With its gag laws and bap­tisms
With its Golden Gloves and Southern Comfort
Rising with phoe­nix, rising from ashes
Rising from govern­ments
Rising from cor­po­rate blood
Trekking it across Indonesia
Trekking it across Brazil
Trekking it across Africa
Trekking it across Kosovo
Trekking it across Emerging Markets
God weeps in my neigh­bo­rhood
The South Pole has moved 15 feet in the last year my neigh­bo­rhood
The ice is mel­ting, the pen­guins are wee­ping
God why do You aban­don us here, here like this ?

My neigh­bo­rhood   my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood 
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
I call out to you who are living my neigh­bo­rhood
I call out to you who live in my house my neigh­bo­rhood
Where I walk around in my ghost shoes
Where I eat and drink rust
Where I roll in the grasses of ceme­te­ries
Where the dead, the real dead of gag laws
Of Golden Gloves
Of Southern Comfort
Where they lie uncon­fi­ned
Down into the memo­ry
     Down into the memo­ry
          Down into the memo­ry and memo­ry and memo­ry
Down into the memo­ry (kiss me)
You will go

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
Up into the peni­ten­tial rite
Well-dig­ger in the wind
Up into the yards on fire
Up into ske­le­tons bur­ning in bathrooms
Rattling a ver­sion of what was to come
In the stuff of weird and cold and dark
My life is an evil river in my neigh­bo­rhood
My life is a peni­ten­tial rite in my neigh­bo­rhood
My life is the Holy Spirit in my neigh­bo­rhood
My life is the Word bisec­ted into time
My life is the Word bisec­ted into flesh
Fruit of the vine and work of human hands
Unseen night­long real

I wan­ted to see but I’ve seen too much
O Viking man
I did not go there as an Innocent this time
Meridian means circle of fire
Meridian the spi­rit who sang in my ear
Sang in my neigh­bo­rhood in my ear in my sleep
On apo­ca­lypse waves of a sca­lene dream

My 17th bir­th­day, first year in Edison, N.J., I recei­ved the fol­lo­wing mes­sage about the end of the world :

5. The beasts shall fall through the chinks in the earth
4. Buildings will crumble
3. Possessions will begin to disap­pear
2. Crowds will become thin­ner
1. There will be a blin­ding light strea­ming through eve­ry­thing eve­ry­thing eve­ry­thing

I woke to the dread of my driver’s test, and to a deer with tre­men­dous ant­lers loo­king in at me from the patio.  I did not know not to touch the glass.   I did not know :

That the ani­mal could shat­ter the glass and tear through the house
That the glass could shat­ter and tear my throat in sca­lene waves of apo­ca­lypse dreams

Meridian means circle of fire.  I did not know this age 25 Gainesville, Florida, wolf-disease loping through my blood.   I did not know this and I lis­te­ned to her when she sang to me shrilly of dark sal­va­tion.  I would have known I say I would have known but the week of my wed­ding I loo­ked at the Holy Spirit through the eyes of

                    The Fool not kno­wing which road to take
                    The Magician and Priestess
                    Their off­spring the Empress
                    The Emperor who is the num­ber 4

But not the Holy Spirit Number 4
Not the Word made flesh Number 4
4    4    4    4  You are so good to me num­ber 4
You are beau­ti­ful and radiant with great splen­dor num­ber 4
So good to emit Your bluest light
Of Him most high, You bear the like­ness
And no mor­tal lips are wor­thy to pro­nounce Your name
But You des­cen­ded down into the memo­ry
     Down into the memo­ry
          Down into the memo­ry (kiss me)
You would go
Into Sister Sleep Number 4
Into Brother Anxiety Number 4
Into Mother Hell and Father Lie
You des­cen­ded num­ber 4
It was weird and cold and dark there
My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Number 4 my neigh­bo­rhood
America your poets are flo­cking to my neigh­bo­rhood
They are sick of your insane demands my neigh­bo­rhood
They take jobs at dry clea­ners
They take jobs at Starbucks
They take jobs in edi­to­rial offices get­ting their asses pin­ched by washed-out Medeas
They take jobs clea­ning the apart­ments of drug dea­lers
They take jobs that come with cel­lu­lar phones
They accept voca­tions of Ultimate Holy Envy
(And why, dear friend, do you have to be the Messiah ?
Couldn’t you set­tle for Immanuel Kant,
O beau­ti­ful cere­bral ever-vir­gin drag­ging your­self across the star­ry sky of non-self
With your sexy blue eyes and kin­dest heart?)
They take jobs licking the blood from the grasses of ceme­te­ries
Sowing their seed in the whore of the Bloomberg
The seven-eyed mons­ter of the bina­ry code
The digi­tal metem­psy­cho­sis of why America, why must your Holy Spirits drink of your
     blood
You leave them no choice America
You leave them no choice America
But to drip their blood across ener­gy and all its sec­tors

Across the mono­lo­gic wind of their vexa­tions
Across the Pistis, Elpis and Agape of machines
And the sacked altar of their mother Sophia
They drip holy blood from Aleph to Tau
Across sca­lene waves of your Real Presence
Of Golden Gloves and Southern Comfort
Your Miss Americas and bat­ta­lion com­man­ders tur­ned defense plant pre­si­dents
You leave them no choice America
You leave them no choice America
And the dro­me­da­ries weep, they weep across a nation
Marking its head with a Tau with a Tau
Dripping blood over smi­ling caf­feine-pickers in orien­ta­tion films at Starbucks, USA
USA USA USA USA
The last card of the Major Arcana, The World
I flick the switch on you America
I want you to feel how it is to be S*H*O*C*K*E*D out of your body
To be fucked into obli­vion
To be fucked into God-with-Us sym­bols of music on a page
What is this river of stars that runs through us all ?

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
I’ve trek­ked my blood all over
From Ocean Avenue to Brooklyn Heights
From Coney Island to Far Rockaway
From the com­mu­nion of saints to the for­gi­ve­ness of sins
From Brother Sun to Sister Death
From Kierkegaard to Saint Michel
Queer bald altar boy in lea­ther bles­sing us all
Blessing Folsome Street
Blessing the Castro
Blessing the Valley of Death
Blessing Japanese Zen
Blessing bles­sing bles­sing
Us all for 20 cen­tu­ries of sto­ny sleep
Blessing us and bles­sing us
Paris, America, your Holy Spirits
America Matthew Shepard is an angel wee­ping over us
Pierced by the Holy Spirit fore­ver in hea­ven
America when will you hear my nove­nas
In smoke rising from jars
America the Creator has given me a shot of His pre­sence
America I stand under Atlas

Dripping my blood across 5th Avenue
Dripping my blood on the walls of St. Pat’s
America your beau­ti­ful birds
They flock to my neigh­bo­rhood
O Viking man with a gui­tar
You sat on a bed in my neigh­bo­rhood
You lay on a bed in my neigh­bo­rhood
Viking man now I never see you any­more
In the night, the stars, the way things used to be
Why did I look into those gyp­sy eyes
It was weird and cold and dark there
Alone, alone, alone, alone with my visions of skull-shat­te­red mar­tyrs
In Laramie, Wyoming
America what is this river of stars that runs through us all ?

My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood
     Up in flames my neigh­bo­rhood
Your skull-shat­te­red mar­tyrs your mar­tyrs tied to fences and left for sca­re­crows
In Laramie, Wyoming
Wyoming of Pollock Wyoming of Guardians of the Secret
Wyoming of dogs licking a ritual
The totems are bur­ning
The man has become num­bers
The woman is an ocean and an eye

When I was 5 I was told there were giant vege­tables who were trying to kill me,      per­haps most espe­cial­ly the giant toma­to who would pound on the door while 3 6’s dan­ced on my head.  No one heard.

My 6th sense pried open I don’t think it will stop
My 6th sense pride open I don’t think it will stop
It is weird and cold and dark here
They gyp­sies are no lon­ger fun­ny
And I am no lon­ger an Innocent

Bless me my neigh­bo­rhood for I have sin­ned
I’m wri­ting that poem from coast to coast
I’m sin­ging that poem from coast to coast
Brother of Francis
I’m making my pil­gri­mage from Word to Thing
From Brooklyn Bridge to Golden Gate
From Posman Books to City Lights
From LUNGFULL ! to 6500

From Fence to Zyzzyva
From Lit to God knows what they’ll come up with next
From Clover to Rohrer
From to Stroffolino to Hillman
From young Fuhrman to the rocky fault
I’m sin­ging my nove­nas 9 x 9
Coffins no alpha­bet can contain
Coffins no gag laws can contain
No Golden Gloves
No Southern Comfort
Damon Daemon Damiano
O God rebuild my Church
It is weird and cold and dark here
Which you can see is fal­ling into ruins
It is weird and cold and dark here
America your saints are sca­re­crows
America your mani­fest des­ti­ny is Starbucks
America your fron­tiers are wee­ping Emerging Markets
America I make money from this
America I mark your head with a Tau with a Tau
Your bird, your Holy Spirit, yours tru­ly (cour­te­sy of Microsoft’s Autotext)

America   Be
     Righteous
     Over
     Our
     Kingdom
     Love
     Your
     Neighbor

America Mother Hell and Father Lie
Have poi­so­ned all the apple pie
America I am the guar­dian of your secrets
I tore a hole in my des­ti­ny trying to unders­tand you
And now I am no lon­ger an Innocent
Bless me my neigh­bo­rhood for I have sin­ned
Bless me for I have sin­ned against your Holy Spirit
Every second was a waking dream
Every minute was a wal­king spell
Brother of Francis pray for me
It is weird and cold and dark here
$45,000 in cre­dit cards =$20 out of some CEO’s pocket

The gyp­sies are no lon­ger fun­ny my neigh­bo­rhood
And I am no lon­ger an Innocent my neigh­bo­rhood
What a feral fucked-up riff on the Walden expe­riment my neigh­bo­rhood
But you see I wished to live deli­be­ra­te­ly my neigh­bo­rhood
To front only the essen­tial facts of life my neigh­bo­rhood
And see if I could not learn what it had to teach my neigh­bo­rhood
And not, when I came time to die, dis­co­ver I had not lived my neigh­bo­rhood
And my eyes were no lon­ger blind

In my neigh­bo­rhood I kno­cked at the gate
In my neigh­bo­rhood the ans­wer was yes
In my neigh­bo­rhood I am no lon­ger an Innocent
In my neigh­bo­rhood I became one of them one of them

You leave me no choice my neigh­bo­rhood
You leave me no choice my neigh­bo­rhood
Dripping my blood across sca­lene dreams
Eating the grasses of the ceme­te­ries on all 4s
With you ever-vir­gin-cum-Messiah of sexy blue eyes and kin­dest heart
Couldn’t you just be Immanuel Kant ?
It was weird and cold and dark with you
In Sister Sleep
In Brother Anxiety
In Mother Hell and Father Lie
When I lis­te­ned to Meridian sing shrilly of dark sal­va­tion
Now my life is a peni­ten­tial rite
My life tears through my house like a word-deer through a forest
I did not know not to touch the glass
My life is a peni­ten­tial rite in my neigh­bo­rhood
My life is the Holy Spirit bisec­ted into time into flesh
What is this river of stars that runs through us all ?

Viking man I stand under Atlas
Dripping my nove­nas on the walls of St. Pat’s
America your birds flock to my neigh­bo­rhood
America your Holy Spirits flock to my neigh­bo­rhood
Viking man with a gui­tar
You sat on my bed in my neigh­bo­rhood
You lay on my bed in my neigh­bo­rhood
O why did I look into those gyp­sy eyes
Death is a mas­ter from Bensonhurst
Death is a mas­ter from Avenue M

Alone alone with my visions of skull-shat­te­red mar­tyrs
Alone in black smoke rising from jars
My neigh­bo­rhood I tore a hole in my des­ti­ny
My neigh­bo­rhood of beau­ti­ful birds
My neigh­bo­rhood of hid­den ceme­te­ries
My neigh­bo­rhood of ghost shoes of Bloomberg and blood
My neigh­bo­rhood glea­ming with Brother Sun
Now even He is killing us too
My neigh­bo­rhood someone wants to jab a Coke bill­board
Through the fair face of Sister Moon

America your skull-shat­te­red mar­tyrs
Are fucked into the God-sym­bols of music
Are fucked into Emerging Markets
Are fucked into your fron­tiers slou­ching toward the rough beast of Bloomberg
Are fucked into Irony
Are fucked into your gene­ti­cal­ly-alte­red apple pie
I tore a hole in my des­ti­ny trying to unders­tand you
O why did I ruin myself Brother of Francis
Why did I ruin myself I’ve seen too much
A bell tol­led in my neigh­bo­rhood
Books rose from the flames in my neigh­bo­rhood
A candle fucked someone in my neigh­bo­rhood
God please rebuild my Church my neigh­bo­rhood
As you can see I am fal­ling into ruins my neigh­bo­rhood
I sing shrilly of dark sal­va­tion
I sing shrilly of essences
I sing of Douglas firs bur­ning in the moon­light of Twin Peaks
They are bur­ning over the Black Lodge set my people free
Come to us Emmanuel, not on a lawn­mo­wer riding over the lost high­ways of col­lap­sed    
     day­light
Not with Lula and Sailor riding into the desert
Past acci­dents, past blood, past tongues of back­ward speech
Past the raped bodies of home­co­ming queens she’s dead wrap­ped in plas­tic
Past the body of a vir­gin washed over by ocean dross
Over a face drawn in sand at the edge of a sea
Alone with my visions of skull-shat­te­red mar­tyrs
I call out to you my love
I sing in the sho­wer to you my love
I turn on all the lights my love
I kiss your beau­ti­ful woun­ded hands my love
Your hands full of vir­gins, your hands full of blood

How to unders­tand it, how to trans­late it
Brother of Francis I’ve seen too much
In my neigh­bo­rhood I spoke in the tongues of angels
In my neigh­bo­rhood I spoke in the tongues of men
In my neigh­bo­rhood a gong resoun­ded
In my neigh­bo­rhood a cym­bal clan­ged
A bell tol­led, a book slam­med shut, a candle sput­te­red out its last
I tore a hole in my des­ti­ny
Now I hang in a field of blood
Brother of Francis pray for me
Go fuck your­self with your 30 pieces of sil­ver my neigh­bo­rhood
Shove it up your God-dam­ned ass my neigh­bo­rhood
I eat you like a tiger of shame
Like a lit­tle girl a tiger of shame
The rain is fal­ling now on these words my neigh­bo­rhood
Staining these pages as I write my neigh­bo­rhood
And I’ve writ­ten that the bap­tism of the insi­der is a let­te­red feat
And I’ve writ­ten that the great god Dionysus tore the babes
From their mothers’ wombs and made them suckle
The fire­wa­ter ins­tead of the breast
And I’ve writ­ten that he whip­ped them with the purple vines
And with the purple vines he bap­ti­zed them
I wrote those words after I left my neigh­bo­rhood
After I was for­cep­ted a second time at 15 from your womb my neigh­bo­rhood
Now I am spea­king these words smea­ring their black love across the warm win­ter rain
     my neigh­bo­rhood
I am spea­king these words and you can’t stop me my neigh­bo­rhood
The wind is blo­wing fier­ce­ly my neigh­bo­rhood
I sing shrilly of dark sal­va­tion
I sing poems in self-help books
I sing sun­sets
I sing sun­sets
I sing Irony into the skull-shat­te­red walls of obli­vion
I sing Bloomberg
I sing blood
My neigh­bo­rhood what did you do to your Holy Spirits
The are raped by the candles of Irony my neigh­bo­rhood
The bells are tol­ling my neigh­bo­rhood
The books are filling up with resoun­ding cym­bals my neigh­bo­rhood
I lift up my candle my neigh­bo­rhood
The rain is fal­ling even har­der my neigh­bo­rhood
I am spea­king this poem as I’m wri­ting it my neigh­bo­rhood
People are wal­king by won­de­ring what I’m doing my neigh­bo­rhood
When they ask I ask them to bless me my neigh­bo­rhood

The last man said he would bless eve­ryone my neigh­bo­rhood
In this river of stars that runs through us all my neigh­bo­rhood
I will ride over sca­lene dreams in a paper boat my neigh­bo­rhood
My words will rise like phoe­nixes my neigh­bo­rhood
Alone, alone, alone, alone
From Ocean Avenue to Brooklyn Heights
From Coney Island to Far Rockaway
From Brooklyn Bridge to Golden Gate
From the com­mu­nion of saints to the for­gi­ve­ness of sins
And Irony is the most woun­ded bird of all my neigh­bo­rhood
Her wings are pain­ted black my neigh­bo­rhood
She covers her knees with a shawl my neigh­bo­rhood
She rocks back and forth in the dusk my neigh­bo­rhood
Perhaps some rag­ge­dy sense will in fact sneak back into our lives my neigh­bo­rhood
Irony is the most woun­ded bird of all my neigh­bo­rhood
She speaks like Diane Sawyer yet she is a Jedi Knight my neigh­bo­rhood
She rocks back and forth and cries all alone my neigh­bo­rhood
20 Centuries of sto­ny sleep my neigh­bo­rhood
And we will have to get down on all 4s and eat the grasses of them all

Saint Michel Foucault queer altar boy in lea­ther bles­sing us bles­sing us
Blessing us from Folsome Street
Blessing us from the Castro
Blessing us from Japanese Zen
Blessing us from Paris
Blessing us in a cha­dor
Blessing us in hos­pices
Blessing us all your Holy Spirit

We climb past mid­night my neigh­bo­rhood
We climb past Kafka my neigh­bo­rhood
We climb past lite­ra­ry theo­ry my neigh­bo­rhood
Where Baudrillard proves the Gulf War never hap­pe­ned my neigh­bo­rhood
Where the star­ving bodies of Iraqi chil­dren disap­pear without a trace my neigh­bo­rhood
Into signi­fiers dan­cing like bloo­dy hooks my neigh­bo­rhood
They are the well-dig­gers in the wind my neigh­bo­rhood
We rise up past our yards on fire my neigh­bo­rhood
Yards full of ears and ske­le­tons in bathrooms my neigh­bo­rhood
This is the stuff of revo­lu­tion my neigh­bo­rhood
It has been light-sabe­red into your skull-shat­te­red mar­tyrs my neigh­bo­rhood
Your dead lay their hands on us in abso­lu­tion my neigh­bo­rhood
Your Holy Spirits, your birds shit­ting their Todesworten across the grasses of a cen­tu­ry   
     my neigh­bo­rhood

Achtung my neigh­bo­rhood
Achtung my neigh­bo­rhood
I tore a hole in my des­ti­ny
I drip blood on your Church walls
I sing my nove­nas from smo­ky black jars
And the movies that eke past the death machine
And the movie where the oracle says, maybe you’ll remem­ber that you don’t real­ly    
     believe in any of that fate crap
Do you
Neo
Neo
Well, my neigh­bo­rhood, nei­ther do I believe in any of that fate crap
Brother of Francis pray for me
While I lift up my candle over my apo­ca­lypse dreams
The Word will cross the forest like a gazelle
And bisect itself into time once again
Bless me Father for I have sin­ned
Bless me Brother of Francis for I have sin­ned
Bless me Viking Man for I have sin­ned
Bless me Kind Virgin with sexy blue eyes for I have sin­ned
Bless me my neigh­bo­rhood for I have sin­ned
Bless me again with your beach chairs and trees
Your yen­tas and super­mar­kets
Your invi­sible books­tores and hand­ball courts
And Brother Sun who is so radiant
And Sister Moon who is so fair
And your birds who see fit to graze my hair
Go now and sin no more my neigh­bo­rhood
But always remem­ber my neigh­bo­rhood my neigh­bo­rhood
Remember the black jars and sto­ny sleep
Remember the visions of skull-shat­te­red mar­tyrs
The apo­ca­lypse boats of sca­lene dreams
Remember the rowing of penance, the rowing through all its stages
Remember the tea­ring of holes in des­ti­ny
Remember the squares that were dark­ly blue shi­ning
And sun­sets of blood
Remember well-dig­ger in the wind
Remember the signi­fiers clin­ging to us like bloo­dy hooks
Remember the ske­le­tons rat­tling bathrooms
Remember the forests full of suf­fixes
Remember in the bosom of Mother Hell, on the shoul­ders of Father Lie
Remember the B on fire the R on fire
The double O pried apart by bur­ning clamps
Remember the K of the K of The Trial and what have I done

Remember the low mur­murs in L-sha­ped rooms
The Y Y Y asked of the Once-He-was-washing-the-world
One and Infinite, anni­hi­la­ted,  –ied
Remember the N of God is here God is here
Remember that light was
Salvation
Remember your Holy Spirits
In all that is seen and unseen
Remember in Hatred, Injury, Doubt, Despair, Darkness, Sadness and their dear sis­ter
     Irony
Who is the most woun­ded bird of all
Who weeps in secret in her rag­ge­dy shawl
Remember your birds gra­zing each other’s hair
From Ocean Avenue to Brooklyn Heights
From Coney Island to Far Rockaway
From Posman Books to City Lights
From Brooklyn Bridge to Golden Gate
From Brother Sun to Sister Death
From Paris to NYC
From Indonesia to Brazil
From Africa to Kosovo
From Alpha to Omega
From Aleph to Tau
Tau mar­king our heads where we weep without cea­sing
Remember the low mur­murs in L-sha­ped rooms
Remember in Hatred, Injury, Doubt, Despair, Darkness, Sadness and their dear sis­ter
     Irony
Remember through the tea­ring of holes in des­ti­ny
Remember the 4s that were dark­ly blue shi­ning
Remember the sun­sets full of blood full of blood
Remember that the Creator loves us very much
And that the Creator has given us a shot of His pre­sence
And that we are stars in the same end­less river
I lift up my candle my neigh­bo­rhood
I call out to you my neigh­bo­rhood
I sing in the sho­wer to you my neigh­bo­rhood
I turn on all the lights my neigh­bo­rhood
For this we were given a voice my neigh­bo­rhood
For this we were given a voice my neigh­bo­rhood
For this  for this  for this  and for this
For this we were given a voice
My neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood  my neigh­bo­rhood

 

[in The Iowa Review ,2003 and in Poem for the End of Time and Other Poems, Wave Books, 2006]

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