Page 57 - GALIET HEAVEN´S SCROLL IV
P. 57
Not only have we
f a ll e n
but dropped out from heaven,
no verdant trees, no three’s and a deportee’s fee Spirit and Beauty, its dreams: paper reams.
Where our winged potentialities and utopias evergreen? Our noses and mouths are now gushing out Mud breath
and Crossblood.
— We dwell in a neurotic Freudian x-ray, enduring a spiritual
chasm of grey —
What the couch? What the lyre? What the drug?
Shrug not Hug.
The clay and spirit’s ray astray in the pill bug.
Toss and toss.
Say? See? Or Pray?
O Star — Black Spun!
Thy funeral procession comes! O Black moss:
The wintry shadow of the Word. Unheard no more.
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