Primer (Cont.)

...Tinsel shadows climb our hoping walls Like the fat gray juices of angry guilt Like the time my brother stole my joy So that he could gloat in the reckoning Of life like the Old Gambler on the hill Wishing his horse would just die Though I love him still, and his horse And all thoughtless creatures Received by us and given to us For whatever purpose tended like a garden In our minds and I am my brothers keeper As he keeps me around him like the wrapping of pages From photo albums never made, blanketing him Smothering him with wisdom and purpose and so Every man is my brother and every photo of every man Is the cherished relic of my church. The dead forever whisper Chanting our names so the ink and Honey and lungs may re-speak truth So our passage to the Core Remains new and inventive. Our hands through blue hair Like wings of light Through the rotting sewage of human time. Speak now through color and life! Or later, in death, from shadows. Oh joy, oh joy, oh unimpeded joy! Follow me like the sun follows the crow Like the moon’s earthen glow. And dance, dance, dance.