The Stranger and The Fool

Where goest thou soul? have you split again into your kaleidoscope frame in the body so vestigial contained what if there is not one Other but many that enter inside waiting to stake claim Where goest thou poet? the higher self penned it seems you have been contracted to Groundhog Day again and again Perhaps you are God, and in you the Matrix, many souls enter your vessel like a hotel door rotates and it swings Where goest thou observer? you stare at a wall, praying like a wailing wall waits for its prayers to be called, head bowed, knocking, knocking, thrice knocking, the mind opens its humble Shushan Door where its Eastern side unsealed, shines so much more and in walks The Stranger the reading and writing of messages, bled palms outheld, barefeet marked, you have inherited the stigmata all of a sudden you understand you have been bookmarked, alike for a while, shelved to be read when It counts, at the closing moment of the main truth, the do and the dare you are seated as if religiously waiting in Sunday school passing and failing the tests, and failing again, The Stranger smiles as if you are the only one that imagines The Stranger Is there, The Stranger notes the notes you are passing back and forward again, the teacher out front, has their back turned again, unaware you pass The Stranger a note, on it is written, “Get me the Hell out of here.” The Stranger laughs and agrees I follow The Stranger's lead like a child waits for a Saviour to save the day, make it cool - not a word spoken, yet the exchange, clearly heard, the Door is wide open, and out in the playground I am again, throws me the ball, I take the shot The Stranger’s no fool Candide Diderot. ‘24 Shushan/Golden Gate.