We are not roused
That’s so much of the problem
And so a scarcity of initiation to understand what the fuck is going on inside the soul
Why my rage
Pours so hot sometimes
That I want to tear down the temples of tyrants
And at other times
I’m as dull, impotent and benumbed
In the face of weeping glaciers and the tidal cries
That creep in the night from trees
To what saga am I sourced, to where does my wavering power find
Steady resource?
I idle into cigarettes
That kill my capacity for bliss
Idle into sexual addictions to behemoth urges
That terrify my civility
Masturbation merry-go-rounds
Seed fertilizing the barren planes of toilet paper
And beautiful phantoms
Oh woman, destroy my fantasies
in the penetrating presence of your indomitable beauty
Smother me in your moist rose petals till I am drunk by the nectar of your loveliness
Prying open your flower wide enough
To pull myself
Behind the ramparts of your shimmering skin
To the castle of your heart
To the forbidden city of your love
That’s doors only open
To the radiant presence of an emperor
Whose weapons are virtue, whose religion is an unfailing enthusiasm
To wed goodness and bravery
And sacrifice with warrior vigilance
All inklings toward knavery
The only slavery known
To the God grown
By us alone…
Another folly: rubbed my lightening beam into another desperate eruption
And the immediate corruption
Of my ability to love like laughter
I want to kneel before you and the milk of your hair and suckle to the dreams that drip from your every giggling heartbeat
I want to pledge all of my allegiance to loving the love
That whirls like a world in the cosmos of our hearts
I want to hold in my seed long enough
That it begins to pollinate my aura
With a bastion of mighty virtue
The cologne of the kingly
The unceasing scent of goodness, untroubled in the face of the most murderous vice
All men cry deep in the gallows of their being
Where all thrusts to beauty’s power
Have been beheaded by a world of boyish monstrosity
Of a Mother raped rather than ardently and dutifully honoured
Where is the sword
Waiting to be unsheathed
And guide the world
To truth, justice and harmony?
The paths all seem littered with wounded fathers, deadly tyrants and reluctant heroism…
I unpack my prayer tools
Lay down my Anishinabe medicine wheel
Place a Tibetan Quartz in the Eastern direction to point my desire to the shining peaks of starry mountains, place a rough rose quartz at the top as the raw rock of love, pouring down the incessant vibrations of union’s healing, an amethyst at the crown of the circle as halo of wisdom, an emerald in the west to protect the village from darkness’s hostility and a rose quartz carved as a heart in the centre for the turtle of truth to stand upon in surfacing from Yin’s counselling ocean and prepare the wedding bed for darkness and light to merge in Mercury’s moans;;;
I sit in stolid posture and light the candles of my inspiration with the fires of my tears
I beg for God and Goddess, for Father Sky and Mother Earth
To forgive the frugality of my love
The tired sexual wastes
I collapse into suffering, like a star ringing the knell in the endless cavern of a black hole
Time and space bending into kiss
I wander into wonder
At the immensity
Of pain
I imagine going to the lake deep in the night to wash away my wounds
And seeing thousands upon thousands doing the same along the shores in supposed hiding
And we weep evermore to see the shame that has cast our courage away
We realize all of our bleeding is into the water
And we wash not to be clean
But to know each other’s agony
To make celebrations of our sorrow
And bonfires of our rage
Turning to the smoky mountains where crimson fires burn set by sickened princes
To pray no longer with hands
But with acts of fearless sacrifice
To save the children’s children
From the madness of this moment
Of this moment again and again…