Odd
to so arise thinking the tide between folly and wisdom, both, neither
one or the other.
Not
and/or but and/both.
A
nodal point.
Momentary
peace lasting. At last.
When
the light is right, the darkness of innocence, all the impermissible
events line up and fall like marbles straight down not bouncing but
becoming an order, a spine straightened. Enlightened? Not sure. But
better said, and simply, set free.
Chuckling
quietly in the dark the friend says yes, and yes; and yes wordlessly.
Twitching,
writhing, groaning beneath the reptilian cold belly, a millstone
really, ground to dust by my own misapprehensions
Returning
to my youth run away at seventeen standing beside a barren tree
truncated in Ohio reading about, not from, Baudelaire
Now
I see being tightly woven in a blank tapestry with Jesus in a dream
manacled to a similar tree in miniature
anarchist
together laughing Oh Dear God Almighty! Free at last!
Along
came an ancient Chevrolet coup filled, a family to headliner, of
migrant farm workers making room to carry me forward towards my goal
from which I boomeranged; returning to the oppression I had fled from
trying to change it.
Sometimes
– remember – we are made of majestic stuff like the star we orbit
evolved from a source before everything else. Heaven/heavens within
sacrificed for a bowl of stone soup.
130413
03:33 bequeath bequest
©
2013 by Jack Spratt
– All
Rights Reserved
credit
capture: A Period of Juvenile Prosperity by Mike Brodie
