41

Otherwise What But Rage?

Spartacus, fighter, man who’d not be a slave,

I know you not, only the great feat you led.

I, myself, am a runaway, as I crave

To choose for myself where my living ought head.

Well, all are born to situation – none are free.

But freedom from “situations” is my need.

Therefore to health do I add what I need be:

Rich: love of money, wealth that’s mine, is my creed.

There’s no genius, nor virtue, has any worth

Without money that is Savior on this Earth.

Money’s my first love, ‘cause having none was hell.

You are a hero, Spartacus: you fought in vain,

Because you had not a treasury like Rome’s.

You had no choice but trust humans, then were slain.

Not me, Spartacus. Though I write peasant poems

I trust wealth – so long as such belongs to me.

Love and friendship, like anything else, are bought.

No work however great wins in poverty.

Who labor for a wage are but more slaves caught.

Would I had dollars as in your army you had swords!

I’d head straight to Rome and sack it with those hordes –

Waiting for one’s ship to arrive fares not well.

42

Out-Going Worship Cautioning Around an Ethic

Co-operation needs I draw to a point:

Your supernatural Word, my twisting tongue,

Thy seed my brain, if that you will but anoint,

Your verse my dance, say by me what you’d have sung.

I don’t make a good penguin, prefer to fly,

On your equilibrium your Hermes winged.

My verse be your medicine, your needle high,

Your manual to happiness primped and preened.

In my third eye your coals of beautiful heat,

Be your rainbows before my following feet,

Feathered and thankful, I your fortunate quill.

Feed me, that others drink of thy spout as well.

My verse be thy teapot, your mixtures to pour.

My hiding shell remove, for you hear my bell.

Make me as you’ve said is my essence and core.

I extend to thee my worth. Nourish me yours,

That my reasoning be as you love and mean.

Supply me, your vessel, thick masts, sails and oars,

And polish me bright to a luminous sheen.

Meanwhile this poem be the threshold of our tale,

Which speaks of my triumph, though looked like I’d fail,

‘Cause my starving you filled, in union our will.

43

Committee

You know the translations that I am making,

Wearing no badge of our matrimony sealed.

I’d the story ascend that we’ve been baking,

Your veins in my mouth published and truth revealed.

Yet not become ash our passport, nor our tale,

But generate our sentience as one Lord come.

Photographs of me be yourself, be your mail,

Even as my depths with your speaking you plumb.

These lines snaking along be your achieving,

Gold threads in the fabric that you are weaving,

This my accommodating welcome to you.

I be your member, mine yours, in live spirit.

For I choose my heart beating be drum your own –

Shall I be cold, prefer you but near it?

Yet be other, too, that we be not alone,

Mystery I revere, faithful, reflecting.

Yet my theater be yours. See through my eyes.

Do I too stray I mind not your correcting,

For, between the one of us, you’re the most wise.

I moan and groan. I’m long weary of fighting.

But I thank you ‘pon my hell came alighting

Your goodness to lift me up and bear me through.

44

Your Charm

Had I your sense of humor I’d be all right.

That you have a sense of humor comforts me.

I too much fear. There’s a blind spot in my sight,

‘Cause I take everything so seriously.

Yet who would not weightily consider you?

For you are great beyond man’s understanding,

So high you humble yourself to worship, too.

Yet, would that you thought my desires commanding:

You’ve holes in your garments that need my patching,

And the menu beneath this verse needs matching.

When our appearance upon the transition?

All right, I do my duty across this Earth.

As toward Mesquite we drive we do your will.

My guess is you think this labor has more worth

Than if we went public with our serpent quill.

Well, if I be your medium such will be

Via means you say, for your acts are your word.

That I be a part you, and you a part me

Is gift enough to be without any third.

For I am instrument of a gracious lord

Whose genius and power I’d to be my sword,

45

Incarnation

How possible to avoid tunnel visions?

And how not section one’s ego, one’s being?

On tour from treasure to treasure, my visions

Are a fraction of all I could be seeing.

How wrap my mind around existence, ‘round all?

Seems more foolish than wise to make the attempt,

For one shall arrive to matters which appall.

Who live in boxes shall view you with contempt.

Invisible you shall become, a specter,

If grow beyond your portion and sector.

Well, genius whatever, if you’re flesh you lose.

Starting over now, I’ve no aspirations.

For now I know two things I didn’t before:

Money is the sov’reign of man’s creations.

Serve that first or your ideals will keep you poor.

Though if like degradation, desperation,

Go ahead, be a hero mute and unsung.

Powers of the air, though, own higher station,

Hearing as please all one might shape with one’s tongue.

Thus, without striving, with treasure double-fold

Do I restart to be what they’d have me hold.

And what they say is gospel I’ll call good news.

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