FOR GENERATIONS TRAPPED IN THE GAS VANS

FOR GENERATIONS TRAPPED IN THE GAS VANS

“What exists as reality can be so substantially

Altered that when we kill those who disagree with us,

There will be no notice of the event.  They seem to,

Then do, rush to the light, to where the light

Closes upon them.  When we open the doors,

At the end of the operation, they are crowded at the rear doors.”

I keep waiting to see the big rooms.

We must be able to find them, open,

Light streaming in, the angels of

God, seated quietly, composing the

Sounds of what we will come

To know as the language of loving.

Here a touch, from the heart

To the groin.  Here, a kiss,

From the name of time to the

Second Drawer of Spring, as it

Reels its petals full force into

The face of desire, unaware

Of the vicissitudes of the 

Seasons, full and culpable

To the caprice of the erotic,

Slitting its lips open to accept

The dogma of the carnal.

The roads only lead to the north.

Direction is a function of the loins.

Yielding and penetration of ideas,

Debate by debate, circumcises itself

For the benefit of an acceptable

Resolution of the source of a particular

Season.  The mouth closes over

The tip of the concept and fills

With a million ideas.  All of time

Begins understanding its own creation.