BITTER AND RESTLESS AND ANGRY
Bitter and restless and angry
I can’t find a way out of the way I got in
I push the moon like a fish hook
all the way through my left eye
to the other side
where only the dark part shows
and the moon wipes off her white facepaint
in a black mirror that isn’t trying to be her.
I don’t feel like a man who’s going anywhere
I feel like some kind of a creature
crawling out of my dark lagoon
in a double feature
from the matinee of my childhood
at the local theater on a Saturday afternoon.
I don’t want to live anything over again.
And there’s not a whole lot to look forward to
except maybe a ghost dance or two
with Sitting Bull in old age
if either of us makes it that far.
The demonic version
of how many angels can dance on the head of a pin
is how many bubbles can you break on the thorn of a rose
and as the answer always is
get a life and cancel the count.
Love pulls back the crescents of the moon
and baits a beartrap with the heart of a fish
but a wolf howling at the moon
with his nose in the air
steps into it by mistake
and ends up chewing his leg off to get away.
And why when you get to the bottom of things
whether it’s the science or art of knowing
you sink through like a stone
is there always in the very nature of things
the despondent god of a dying religion
trying to cheer you up?
But I’m too out of it
to know whether the world’s gone insane or not.
The sinners can’t cope when the saints get caught.
And things are definitely not what they used to be
or even seemed
now that beauty’s a morphing cultural meme
and the torch that the Statue of Liberty used to hold up
is melting like ice-cream in its own fire
and there’s a hundred and eleven dimensions
to the ways you can lose yourself in the multiverse.
Black-hole constellations eye the dice
and don’t know which way to fall.
Heaven’s hooked on drugs
and Hell’s a cartel.
Preacher: leave them kids alone.
The night might be an elixir of stars
that never grow old
but more and more
the darkness that overwhelms everybody
from the inside out
like the godsend of a broken promise
is beginning to taste like black cool-aid.
And the serial killers
study comparative atrocities
in the finishing schools of their seedy educations
and millions are wiped out every year
like a smudge of life on a tv screen
and everyone is so shocked
by the horror
they go out and buy
a bigger, clearer monitor.
And there are so many things
so many tongueless, eyeless screaming things
done in the name of a human
you couldn’t even ask the devil
to forgive you for
the pornography of gore
makes unranked amateurs of the Aztecs
when it gets right down to hearts and skulls
in the race to blood the altars of our highest ideals.
And I’m so sick of listening
to these paragons of oxygen on the news
who cut their hearts out like oyster-kings
everytime they open their mouths
to talk to the sea
and another halfbaked pearl of wisdom drops out
like the jewel of a fool
or the adolescent crescent of the moon from moonschool
where they teach the iron rule
do unto others before they do unto you.
Love is food.
Knowledge is food.
Sex is food.
The universe is food.
God is food.
Ignorance is food. Junkfood.
But everywhere in the world
people are starving.
In all ten directions everywhere at once
the whole universe is its own illusory cure
for all its illusory diseases
and even a single blade of grass
is enough of a herb
to sweat out any fever of stars
that binds us to our delirium
like dark blood to the blindside of the Mysterium
and yet everywhere people are afflicted
people are wounded
people are dying in the name
of a few cruel ideas
trying to give birth to a new world
that thinks it would be better off without them.
Baby-talk in the savage maws of Baal and Moloch
who will not be appeased
by the sacrifices our children made
to save the depraved from the grave
they dug for themselves.
Bring on the Romans.
Bring on the Carthaginians.
Bring on the Christians
like nabobs of salt
who shouldered the nations
like heavy crosses
it was their station
of suffering in life to bear.
And the wombs they ruined
are more immaculate now
has taken a few pounds off the equator
and everyone’s doing their best back home
to put a little nest egg away like an alligator
biding its time
until things look up
like another unwary unicorn
down by the river
dipping its horn
in virgin water
that flows like slurry
from a nuclear reactor.
Trying to find out
who I am in the way it is
is like trying to drink fresh water
from your own reflection in a sewer.
The mirror is not pure.
The mirror is not impure.
Nature and nurture
in one sorry face
looking back at itself
and what’s to come
and the way things are
as if evolution had already gone
a species too far.