In the Garden of Evil

In The Garden of Evil (Apropos the New World Creation) See-sawing along the shores of life, gazing upon the reflecting light, we grasped keloids of memories—running. And like fishermen of food, we webbed together the broken pieces of history and casted our nets into the sea: into the sea of perseverance— Catching hope; harnessing redemption. Running. The word remains mightier than the sword; spiriting into being in the space that gave birth to time; manifesting circadian rhythms of life. Man, cocooned in the Garden, sought light; the serpent showed a flash—a streak of power: in the image of, became insufficient. Then a Pompeii spark and all hell broke loose. But ashes have a kind of Phoenix entity that teases with spiraling smoke of resurrection. Old seeds germinate and grow new beginnings. Out of the chaos of the inequality of serfdom and royalty, ships sailed upon the wrinkles of ocean waves—ironing creases to Middle Passage overtures of an American symphony that would scar the history of so-called civilized humanity. Neither new nor strange, but peculiar became the systematic dawning of a creation that only man could bring into being and sustain with evil mythological justifications of suffering’s redemptive nature. America the beautiful: new Adams and new Eves; New World beginnings— snakes slithering in the grass.