[lit-ideas] It's Crying Time Agin

  • From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: "LIT-IDEAS" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Wed, 30 Jun 2004 17:52:45 -0500

Oh, it's moving time again, I must be going (sung to the tune of Crying
Time).  In my 60 years I have moved 33 times.  Only farm workers move more
often, I think.  The duplex I now live in is a bit of an eyesore, and very
much in need of cleaning, but very comfortable.  It's very Midtown on a
street that is very Midtown in an area that is very Midtown.  I love this
place.  More, I think, than any I've ever lived in.  My duplex neighbor is a
seldom-sober carpenter.  A wonderfully gifted guitarist and a cannabinoid
expert.  My other neighbors are equally eccentrically gifted.  I have felt
so immensely at home here.  But my landlord, being a Midtowner himself and
living with his girlfriend and outside the law as well (so it turns out),
has been found out.  Taxes, now doncha know.  The same thing that did in
Capone.  He shows up and says, "Sorry, but I've gotta move back in or the
Feds will confiscate this place.  Jesus! just at the wrong time of year and
the wrong time of life and wrong time of cosmic evolution.  OK, then, this
will make move number 34.  Three years ago I inherited an acre of land some
forty miles west of here in a town of some 300 souls poorer than dirt where
I still intend on building my empire.  But intentions are what God laughs
at, I've discovered.  But oh, to be free of landlords.  Isn't that the
American dream?  "Kill the landlord, kill the landlord," Mr. Robinson used
to urge on the kiddies.   Anyway, all of this is just preface to telling
y'all that I'll be off air for a week or so.  I have to move this weekend,
but I don't have any place to move to yet.  Might be interesting.  Keep
those prayers going.  Trouble deaf heaven.  And because I'll be unplugging
myself tomorrow, I've decided to send next Sunday's SUNDAY POEM today.  I
dedicate it to Stan Spiegel and hope it fills his need for fleshed-out
poetry (but don't count on it, seeing as I have no idea what I'm going to
write).  Let us begin (time in: 4:48 pm CST)


            "In principio erat Verbum."

St. Mary's Seminary
was some sixty miles south of Louisville.,
a monastic farm of sorts,
a place where I practiced
sacrificing my need for women
to God,
but where I didn't hear the bells
nearly so clearly as the bulls
bellowing their longing
like lusting angels
deep into the evening.
"Dear God," I prayed,
"turn this hunger into adoration of you."

White Sower, Red Reaper, Dark Winnower of Grain,
Mother of Phases, Dispenser of Rain,
forgive my blasphemies.
I was captive of your enemies,
I didn't know,
that the Word is but the silent syllables of touch.

                    -- Mike Geary

(time out: 5:43  CST)

There you have it.  Please don't anyone say anything interesting until I

Mike Geary
Memphis, TN

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