|
Fred Allen
Howl
Who can know the ferment I know?
Who will taste the brassy tincture of this electric cup?
Who dares stand upon this wind-dashed brink
And face undaunted the churning apocalyptic maw?
Who can ride the rip tide of wrath
Or hold steady atop judgment’s sluicing sand?
Who will sell his sanity for a mere intimation,
Trade his center for an inkling’s tilted scales?
Who will lift up futility like a grail
Or bless contentment’s broken host?
Who will refuse the flickering gall that
Splinters the light with neural promises?
Who will limp and wear a burlap veil
And stammer the creedal nonsense in
Climate-controlled temples of expedience?
Who can accept, without argument or injury,
Nullification?
Then come with me
To the secret spring that whispers in the ravine
Hidden on this vast, arid shelf.
Come listen to the blank leaves shudder
Over the quivering pool,
Touch our cracked lips to its yielding silk,
And drink again its icy fire.
There we will remember.
We will remember our names.
An Oracle About Nothing in Particular
Give ear, all you with the tailor-made souls,
Whose idea of a good time is watching Seinfield reruns
While dreaming of shorter work weeks or longer weekends (you’re never
sure which would be better)
For whom morality is a hobby and
Who seal the Eucharistic coffee beans in Ziploc bags,
Nervously watch the neighborhood for signs of transition
And take the kids to practice all the way chatting aimlessly
On the cell about yesterdays vacancies, never thinking that “cell”
Once referred to the basic Lego piece of human life but now means
Alerting Margo that you're in the prepared foods aisle and what
Was it you were supposed to pick up before coming home?
Who listen with rapt inattention to the news anchor or preacher or
YouTube life form or latest alternative voice
Looking for a new conscience or personal liberty lubricant
Who can hold matters and antimatters simultaneously (& in the same space) without
Canceling yourself out, all the while chanting self-affirming mantras
That go something like “Whatever” or (on a good day) “Whatever”
Praying when needed (or on a good day) when needed to the god of
Affirmation and Actualization who always smiles and longs for you to
Get better gas mileage and will actually stop by for a visit as dictated
By the laws of theological necessity and more than a little help from
Open collared gurus who point to heaven while building barns & noble
Vibes (sorry about that) that are one-third less filling and leave no
After taste—
The tension between us, brethren, is slowly but relentlessly becoming unbearable,
A long migraine of the heart fueled by lack of any moral high ground and
A dash of anguished sincerity
So that I cannot look you in the face unless I’m trying to fool you or
Avoid applauding our common duplicities (O don’t ask “what duplicities”)
So I breathe deep the noxious gasses from the cleft in the very earthly rock
The same cleft from which the Sybil at Delphi gathered her muttered
Prophecies to confound the same seekers who wished only for a better
Deal (like you) and in the process prompted the fall of empires and
More than a few faces with the madness
Appropriate to her station implying that I too am drunk on the
Subterranean ethos but can’t quite sing those heavenly blues
Like the big boys but, damn, if I can't plummet to the
Spit-stained curbs as good as any where on any given
Sunday morning you can find me chanting a ribald
Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison
With the assembled gods.
Fred Allen heads up Burning Bush Ministries, teaches literature, draws cartoons, blogs Totally Baked, and does a lot of speaking around the planet. He has never seen American Idol.
Copyright 2007 by Fred Allen. All Rights Reserved.
This page was published in May 2007.
|
