Such Unexplainable Madness from Mortals

Such unexplainable madness from mortals,

These rye eyes that haunt the cellar near,

To which and where and when the evils peer

With goat-boot flesh and ample amber stains,

Like rain and mist and rust from metal things.

Ah, that we might all have a turn as concierge

Upon this moat and boat and Silver Star life,

That we might not find redundancy on the facet

Of gemstone strife and conscience unabated,

To stream and pound and ponder penitence,

For sin after sin is losing hair but never teeth

To bite and strike our systematic facsimiles.

O that winged friends above might call from horns,

To hear us wish upon the subtle earth

And spit our calloused threats upon the moon,

So soon to gather and collect in pools of gray,

The disorganized reproach we lap at each day,

Were our mirrors unaffected and clear as true love,

Except hearts beat and beating of any kind is never good.

Not all words are pneumatic words, gassed, compressed,

Tortured in the silence of the pin-drop suns

We cave to when our tears are arid stumps atremble,

That a wind might come mighty from another’s breast

To hold our hope in a creaseless heart full of snow—

Ah, yes, to melt and vanquish the bones we often hold,

Closet-closed but rapping toward the colloquial colloquia

Hindering hearts more hearty than those we implore!

Let us create new genes, new souls without stigmas

To arrest and puncture such madness we all explore.

Let us loose our ties that others see as nooses,

Even to leave us vulnerable as Hamadan to Alexander.

Show shame without the down-tilt of such frail necks,

That insanity might know more than a veiled label of free-thought

Laced and lured toward these mother-kissed lips,

So action might incorporate, more and more, the Turdidae

To hear, with eyes instead of ears, the songs that,

From these unwonted souls, so often pour from zeal.