on the whim of the Wheel
On the Rim of the Wheel
From Aeon to Age the fathomless abyss plunges, in astonishment, in front of the gazing disgruntled little heart; near the street corner next to the gritty bar. The scream & the horror of all the filth, where a child eats sugar cane, while harmoniously naked from the waist to dirty feet, he hurls out loud counter-obscenities in golden ratio:
God is kind. God has pity. A little less, then peace & love.
Squirming on the stain bathed gutter, with the look of a flounder, the weary bitches wait with worn leathered faces.
Apeling girls wetting.
Bringing down into mire, the starry wealth of the soul.
What a bitter repugnant place, …what an elated damnation. Yet sigh, say wait & be kind, be like a pillow to hate when she slanders. Lie on the ground wallowing.
Run to hide and fleeing help from the other side, live in a bin, residing under some cardboard roof, fleeing the pounding merciless sun. Where to piss ? Where to wash the crass ?
Riding on the revolving godless whim to the adjacent melody of the celestial empire ! To pray the Virgin again and again. Jesus and or his compassionate Father.
*******
Then I went into the next sphere. But the empiric organic anatomy of before, struggled here in this place, several people call reality. Nourishing wishes for futur useless days. Panting the obvious inevitable circular waiting. Lured to a secret treasure. No bottom to the chest. Nothing but lice and dust and ashes, in exchange for a tear.
Not everyone got there. But did. Either like a fallen powder after the rain, or some sleazy goo in the bathroom. Oh, but those are spirits of the dead coming back to bid again, the privilege of passing thru another door of Death.
*********
A rare instant throning on Eternity’s bowels. All hyped up to a pinnacle of deep relaxation.
The fiery sword split the daring crane. And the fountain of youth from the eternal sky of Being poured gushing into each cranny of every bone & sinew down to the tip toes there where the Soul pretends to Being !
The Star of God. The happy bosom of one Homeland.
There is no death to the soul. No bleak perspective. No bleating like some African lamb. No victimhood of any kind.
Joy slaughtered the Satan in my heart. The mortal flesh was ruined then condensed into one sacred cinder, pilloried at a sacred impasse ! Full of fire and the brimstone of Heaven. As gleeful as can be when still in Hell. An armored god-man mounted on the Rim of the Sun. Eating sugar cane.