[lit-ideas] SUNDAY POEM

  • From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: "LIT-IDEAS" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Sun, 15 May 2005 12:47:01 -0500


Inflexible morality of the miserable:
at least that if no more, ought through their creeds.  
The ligatures of all beliefs I am here to untie.

There are rich and powerful men 
who at this very moment are plotting to kill you.
They don't know your name.
If they did,
you wouldn't be on their list.

Rumi makes me wish I were of his Islam,
Francis of Assisi of his Christianity,
Basho and Saigyo, that I could, like them, let go.
Lao Tsu -- would that I could follow through.
But I'm stuck with me and a sometimes gouty knee.

'Resplendent' -- the world of the wealthy.
Private Security stands guard.
The police stand guard.
And the National Guard
and the Navy
and the Army
and the Air Force
and the CIA
and the NSA
and the ASA
and the DIA
and the NMIA
and the NRO
and the FBI.
It takes a lot of intelligence to keep the poor poor.

Had Jesus laughed just once,
I might have followed him with love. 
But he never saw the infinite humor of 
the poor admiring the wealthy.
He was no God.

So here it is another Sunday,
church bells reproaching me:
"God wants you!" they say.
But I'm a conscientious objector, I plea.
The Devil laughs most heartily,
"Yes, as conscientious as a beer joint. 
For thirty years you've relived the ending of Zabriskie Point
like a sacrament."
OK, it's true.  Second only to the swivey hips
I ache for the Apocalypse.


Mike Geary

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