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.
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