Wondering Where To Go

what snake coiled around an erect phallus
brings deliverance to a spinster
who dreams of wild black pigs
living on land and water
what symbol of transition is Hermes then
of no good to one unwilling to spill blood
move we must in one direction of choosing
or get left behind
the age of the now will not retract
spring is dead no promise of bloom
rocks must wither
and seas unyielding
mold psyche, open antique stores, sit there crying
not everyone’s gotta break their back
generations decay in due time, let them
it’s out of your hands, don’t drink yourself to death
or dwell in pig-ignorant tunnels
you prayed to the god who built heaven
but the grass will turn black
and robes will insult the craftsman’s loom
while you sit on your ass
and pray and chant and rant and exalt in ritual ecstasies
or walk up the pilgrimage mountains of doom

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Wondering Where To Go

To The Gods We Shall

in one man’s faith is another’s lack thereof
say what you will about outwardly goodness
true words leave not from the fanatic’s lips
it is a sham that there exists a god for all
the deaf and the blind, and the mute most of all
such impotent respectability among others however abled
matters not when their fingers and thumbs in safety
of their mouths have no protest left in them
like ripened breasts flop limply after a child has weaned
and the world’s ornament – myth has stood in increase
for however piteous a cry from the bounds of one’s breath
none hold station a moment longer
when the evening of our lives begins to descend
and in its guise a wound that’s born to bleed
much inherent to divine dexterity is the oncoming
rush an unknown evermore and all that’s admitted
is that time reduces bony hands to an ancestral garment
a kind of gladness within which lies a mirthless laughter
and with the same damnation the gods demand lives
be ended like a rudderless boat adrift the holy ganges

To The Gods We Shall