Pull back the
magician’s cloak and this is all he stole
Behind the fabric
of traffic intermingled baggage
In crumble-step
languages and meandered obtuse angles
The voice of the
voiceless is a megaphone from most lips
Quivering and
swaying, swearing and obeying
Sentiments of
concrete scriptures tipping off the teamsters
To build this and
not pave that, road to here, but that wasn’t in the contract
Literary
luminaries deriving the new millennium source code
With what the hive
manufactured two-thousand years ago
Look like that,
skin not as soft, polyester genealogy
Whip the star-dust
off the culture astrologically
Believe in a pole
position based on moons and horses risen
Odds at the track
on Pascal’s wager with no take backs
This one’s a
mudder; she’s a streaker; he’s a thoroughbred, he’s a preacher
Kick up the grass
and don’t let the crowd pass
The effort to
expunge the shoes the tribe told them to meld to their feet,
Which made it
heavier to run, keep up with the talkers
Have the squatters
become the followers, iron-cast
Two sets of rules
and sure the first shall be last
In a diamond
encrusted golden chalice, drink victory
That only I can
make and partake, herein after me
Masturbatory
allegory of got to have the testicles
To
transubstantiate the variables of why I am here and you are there
Don’t look behind
the curtain, the wizard is always there
Master magician,
the all-seeing eye, penetrating gaze
The difference
between you and me is the parting of a tornado, wild-fire, hurricane
Swirling out to
sea, hello New Orleans and avoid Corpus Christi
Hollowed out hells
and peoples on faith
Crash into Mexico
and Mobile rearranged, who invented Mardi Gras
Got to get ‘em
back; debauchery, decadence and no marriages like that
Making me babies
plump wombs up good, can’t just shoot down my sperm signals
To make men for my
wood, nailed up like love soldiers
Showing you how,
last shall be first, and over there don’t eat the cow
This one had
bacon, nah sucker you’re out,
This one broke the
peace of the mountain and demons came misting out
Blow, blow, blow
your houses down
For the one true,
begot you into a mushroom
Heaven of clouds,
jump on this trampoline of expectations
No trampling to
get here, there are plenty of fish in this ocean
To catch, just
don’t think too much or you might see the nets
You have rushed to
find slumber in one of the great tents
Full moon tonight
and the parables of goodness are stitched
With other men’s
flesh, stretched out to looms of bloodshed
Wars of conquest,
gold crusade contests
Of who’s land is
my land, Woody from Jerusalem to New York Island
Jolly bankers
changing money in the temples, reverends making penance
In the plates with
microphones about uteruses and sodomies in the state
Of who started
what and the answer to all, staring at the people
Behind him as the
horse rushes out the stall
Look at him go
racing to the sky, can’t see his face, but My, Oh My!
He’s got a beard; we’re
sure and balls of never-used sperm
Pent up in a
mystery of genetics and chromosomes of conquest
Who can be the
first to see his shit-eating grin is the ultimate contest
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