God

today's poem is for macker. macker once asked the list about kerouac. (so macker, if you are reading, and i know you are, here's a smattering; though i'd have to say this isn't a great smattering. more of a slight gnosh. a little nibble. and maybe not indicative of the whole meal.) once upon a time i was a huge beat fan. nowadays i'm more prone to thinking of them as Those Who Excelled at Extending Adolescence. Or maybe that just cuz I'm over 30 now.

i'm losing all the indentations here in my blog.... i'll try to remedy soonly.

God

In his jest serious, in his murders victim,
or which, is God? Who began
before non-existence's dependence
on existence, Who came before
the chicken and the egg
 

Who started out
enormous Light
the dark brilliance of the Mystery
for all good hears to shroud inside
and keep their understanding sympathy
intact as Beethoven's courageous
slow sigh.
 

In his atrocitites victim?
In his jests damned?
In his damnation damnation?
Or is God just the golden hover
light manifesting Mayakaya
the illusion of the moon, branches
across the face of the moon?

 O perturbing swttlontaggek
montiana godio
Thou high suffermaker!
Tell me now, in Your Poem!