Friday, October 10, 2014

Morning Ale October 9, 2014


God, I feel myself swallowing the putrid lukewarm morning ale
The lament of a pleonastic letter whisked off like a bottle off deck
Registering the falseness of ever bearing the reciprocation of discourse
The words have always been sloshing worms in fallow dirt

Wriggling prayers like Mayan rain dancers
Droplets of faith parch in my tears
That this silence might ever surprise me shattering the Catholic standard
That one must discard all specified hopes

For whatever the Scottish wish is rewritten to fit the whim of the Lord
Through the mainland of those bigger, brought to together in the first
Of those allowed dreaming past oceans of self-admonishment
For wanting any peaceful grace is to obliterate its presence

One must abstain from spiritual eye contact with all desires
For whatever, whomever, whenever, wherever one wishes
Is blasphemy to the raw insecure magnanimity of the Lord
To know better so in it could never be her

To pray with clarified images is to watch the solidity of love dissipate
For if one thing God has taught me, want not, dream not, hope not
Be thankful for the isolation, grateful for the hunger of the nothingness
To feel love so in proximity is but a reminder of the absence

To push one further into the universe’s cackling indifference
The meandered human rationale inserting ego into the void
Like a penny fountain of nebula and quasars pounding on anvils
To spark the irony of dreams

To have no more words to write
This is heartache
Visited every thought into the bottle cast
Knowing the profanity of the mute retort   

Empty damn empty parched numb
Waiting on a miracle that my spirit was not meandering comfort
Truth floats like a mist in her thoughts of my essential position or irrelevance

As I cry for daylight at the thought of facing the oblivion once more  

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