When the strings and co come to town
No wonder the 19th century poets were ope’ addicts.
No television,
And it took an orchestra from Vienna to reach earthly heaven
Death knolls were entertainment,
kinda grabs you by the neck, no?
but no-bells (Prizes) for imagination
Can’t wait for my dream sequel,
if death were dreaming, there’d be no Hell
“Oh, I’ll fly away, dear Jesus,”
when the strings and co. come to town
swooping in and out of appreciation
between epiphany
and wonder transcending
Then sings your soul
I am amazed at the beauty that touches your tounge[sic].
Then sings my soul my Savior God to thee;
You’re a good friend. I like being around you
how great thou art, how great thou art!
I’ll write a letter to recommend you if you ever need one.
Then sings my soul my Savior God to thee;
i am thankful for you and your creative thoughtfulness.
how great thou art, how great thou art!
Several times I have thought about how good you are to me
Then sings your soul, my Savior god to me;
how great thou art. . . how great thou art!
Waves of tongues
I want to straddle the waves of tongues,
ride around the sanctuary on
winds of voices that lack skill
but lost in unity
blend polyphony into monophony,
piecing together an unspeakable sound that can only be said by many
The vermin–verses–the color field
Lost in a field of maroon,
bumping up against ambiance–
assonance of a few-color-palette
brushing up beside the intoxicating thesaurus
of reality, with its big, burning, brushes painting
bold strokes on an ivory canvas of innocence.
Jaggedly, I run across (away from the open)
toward the eclipsing trees to transcribe,
“Hah, Number Ones! Zeroes leave a path, too!”
So splatter this vermin into the wind
and hang my pelt in your book museum.
“Would you like these words sauted?”
arriving on the table–bubbling verse, fat of the living, no acrylic–
for “if ever I loved thee” and wanted to explode, “’tis now.”1
explode me with your eyes, chunks will fly and be
reborn in the healing, cleaned once again
–to splatter hemoglobin
on the platelets and dinner entrees
of the hunting.
1 from a hymn, “My Jesus, I Love Thee”