Bete Noir
living paradigm
bastardized in religion and theory
no more of these armchair convictions
life is for the living
put on the drink
swallow it down
let it coat your muscles
leading to the heart of your soul
time is of the neverending
circular and vast
though finite and catholic in its views
so far the calender is blank
bring me to the sovreign sky
and let it swallow me whole
for these clouds are no more home
than a dirt road in a Flannery O'connor tale
but grandma pulled the trigger
at least she drove the man mad enough
to shoot us.
that's what the epitaphs will say
not mine
mine will read of love and woe
of summers spent longing
for that one moment I could call extravagant
ostentacious
but the loveless know no peace
wrought with agony and iron
and brought to a place of stillness
this bodhisattva has no will for nirvana
darkness
let it seek me
and I will find it
through halls of must and ore
through dimly lit caverns and veins
and still- remaining empty
you will cast me off
like all the others before.