Jack Spratt

120717 0424 born anonymous in America

I didn't ask to be born anonymous in America When I was Startled now to realize mother's admonition to become as meaningless as a grain of sand within – She didn't say the the infinitude of the cosmos A dust mote in time meaningless infinitely less glorious than sand in any form Merely the memory of a mountain crushed reduced to a dust mote Then ever crushed farther elemental of what is to come Unknown

Within me are visions remembered better than everything else. Rude, arrogant, imposing my opinions on others like a wannabe candidate the Second Coming If so what would that look like? Jesus returned not to Jerusalem but Times Square waiting the Ball to drop? Or panhandling saying Brother can you Give me a Dime? I am Jesus The soon to become Christ Anointed

Were I so I'd know that to be Jesus there must be others like Mohammad to come who said let the mountain come to Me or Buddha long before me saying I don't want to return again never please I'm tired I won't go on the list is endless those who were born anonymous in time recycled What I see in your eyes dear God whenever I look at any person cat dog or log you writ enormous Too reverent to exist as flesh & blood I see you clearly and want to die coming back to being a dust mote in Your Lovely Eyes

Or

Are you God you who measure my sperm count blood pressure the intimate thoughts my fear and loathing in America Do I wear fishnet stockings and high heels prancing naked orgasmic or merely in my sleep the worst nightmare a trophy on your wall a prized consumer consumed sucked hollow of any worth other than perhaps to electrically resurrect me again to fuck me up fuck me over dick me around with you nose up my posterior inhaling my fetid fetishistic soul seeking good or God? May my dust make you sneeze evacuating explosively the fecal matter of you flecula sense of me you lemming 

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved