and the brothers were not kin…
aces lived in holes and jokers were in gardens fertilizing hopes.
and still the grass would not grow and children would not smile
and the angels would never come.
and the rescuing was stalled, the anticipations waited like
onlookers expecting miracles –
and the mystery that is life finally told its secret, but the affected
smiled like guest at a party. and so was so and this was that and
mary drank lambs blood till she was hysterical.
and the beautiful and the ugly no longer worried…
they had found much in common; wearing rags and trinkets.
and the motors had no soul, nor could they perspire – love was geared
to borrow cups of sugar – and then the beliefs drank a toast to the
myths of power and no one complained of bitterness.
and the caboose is always at the mercy of the locomotive unless
or until it decides to shit. and purpose will forget its name –
its strengths and lay paralyzed in a shambles hospital.
and the ands will
never add up to
and the monarch with no clothes and the worm that spun no gold,
spoke using a language that had already been broken by a spy
masters code and then the occupied sat by windows sure that
yesterday was right like a plan.
failures succeeded brilliantly beyond expectations, they had done
their jobs so very very well…and the masturbaters needed
translators because they acted so very alone.
and your payments get bigger and bigger and take longer and
longer and you will never be done. and the gossips live on hills
constantly checking the whereabouts of the wind.
discovery is extinct
like a dinosaur like a fossil
like a friend.
and the heart of darkness sipped jack the ripper coffee having
no need of love in the middle of the night. and everyone knows
that one hand can’t clap, that life doesn’t resemble a beanstalk
does it? and yet we continue to exploit our myths holding onto
them like mothers singing anthems.
and rocks cannot break or injure the surface of water and the
mirrors will never be reached for comment. and the lost have their
own department and the found outstretched hands. and the crazy
have little white jackets and the mystery of personal history to
repeat over again like a prayer.
and the mountains have no majesty – the angels have been de-
feathered like pillows after a fight. and the half that is empty
screams to the half that is full, break the glass and flow like a
river, until you are home.