Down The Black River

Keep down the strident call

for empathy with tentative,

fleeting gestures.

Humble the canopy

which reaches up to laden skies—

peak of dynasty—

yet falling through the crater.


Liberation through simple,


poetic climate

of re-enchanted loam,

and ether-sifted, salient features

dawn in mists from future conquests

where no blood is spilled,

no creature dies.


Yet up the soaked poor fly

into seed-beds of past domains.

Into each and every highway

go the coloration and perspicacity

of no ending story,

hinted tales of pagan times

which led to raunching Lent.


Systematic transitions

keep the time

and keep the trade

of glorifying salesmen

handy as can be

to re-embrace the loaded dice

and hurl them through the sky

to strike a chord

of merciful delinquency

through which the story

disembowels its hora,

like the times which we can see

are only rubbing,

ribbed hallucinations.

And, each time, we taste the chorus-saving sleep

of drone and drone

and ode for long-suffering separate age.


Aeon upon endless rage

and drifting tundra tasks

have accomplished all they needed

of their own complacent

taking of the torch

which drifted down

the Black River’s current

to the deep, deep, deep blue sea

and sank until it shone from yonder depth

and lit the pearl of wisdom

which we sought

yet could not place.

So when that Fish embodied

those lit embers of our grace

and opened wide its mouth

so we could see our show

reflected in the gill

which breathed no air

and we could see no pair of eyes

to gleam through that

dream-ridden escapade,

our moment came

and still our moment comes

when drums the day along

and trance disguises

lit-up night for day

and we continue drifting on

until the seeds complete

the bursting rupture

of our clefted symbols;

and encompassed harvest

is now ripe

for cascading

these simple, sliding pips

to reap the sowing.


Owing more than we can tell in time

yet–once removed–

is open up to question.

“How can thy name be hallowed

when the same shows

in each and every spark of light

as thy am I

and ye are me?”

And sealing the rift

between these ancient adversaries,

hoping for a new constitution.


To each rendered “Hail” many times,

and calling back the river

from its source

to the sea;

and in that relocation,

I see this simple equation,

and it is simple:

safe places,

havens in the wake of races,

pale complexions pour

from the sections

which are shocked,

fatal attraction,

sealing the sign of the times

with a cross.


Playing out,

raying out.

Signify your stridence.


come by.

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