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From: "Sean Farragher" <seanfarragher@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Poem of Thanksgiving -- Orgasm of Physics
Date: Fri, 29 Nov 2002 10:10:03 -0500
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First & Last Poem by Joss:
"ASHES TO ASHES/ DUST TO DUST"
(c) 2002 Sean Farragher
http://seanfarragher.com/Joss
http://seanfarragher.com/TxM6
http://seanfarragher.com
I covet the sun and old faces
as the drive of the skin to know
the grace of thanks for bleeding
We exorcise our demons and declare
the end of all designs that circumvent
the delusions of our perfection.
Life is the journey to that nominal
arrangement of atoms and nuclei --
for billions of years we are left
in silence, as death is silence
as that time before birth, can
you remember your mind before
that collection of matter
fit in the calm of the uterus
and running up the tubes
we were collected sad made
as one unique star in orbit.
What do we see and how can we
Thank the foods and the water
and the blood and the sex
Someone created out
of nothing so it seems.
I am not speaking about birth
of flesh, but the loss of zero
when time began to mount its
cardboard mockup of sand drifting
down through gravity's holes.
Turn over the clock. Turn up
the eyes and imagine the world
without any stains, no poisons
except the words we set down
in granite to prove majesty.
We are this wet swamp, this
boil of stars, a fragment of
color let to run away gods
and they're in our mercy
we pray for thanksgiving
on Mars as sentient beings
the dust of the mountains
driving with camels and sword
out of the mirage of the desert.
We are the last faking silhouettes
We cannot be restored without love
We are the unfettered fools
driving the ends of the stars
towards the middle swallowing our
sex in a miracle of perpetual
orgasm that is the nature of life
and high-lights of Joss personified
on the tablets of Sumer and as
deserts of painted sands by Pollack
and mad troubadours, we are saints
as we become invisible spores
of dying star, dead nebulae
a final groan of the plates
of the earth, last tremor
of Joss myself in all.
Thank you dear voices
perpetually bound in glass
underneath the equator
of our solar Byzantium.
***
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