Poetical Disputes

all this argy-bargy over words--
it's too much, really--the
shaft-spears thrown across
list-servs at mild-mannered academics,
blue eyes floating in the milky puss
above his fine-knit sweater
as he protests--
no, that is not what I meant,
atall, atall
in an attempt to pacify the
lion man with his
sharp-toothed replies, his
glassy eyes bright after
their firing, white-hot liquid,
boiled sandgrains to these
cracks and chips of color
wreathed around the inky pupil,
a deep well, a black hole

the stars still pock the sky,
the sun still burns over the desert

Lux et Veritas, Lux et Pax

Lux et veritas
Lux et pax

the light, the light through
the bubbles of sunlight soap,
those rainbow spheres, those
thin worlds upon worlds, a
stream of small planets exploding
on his bare arms, to his delight,
his great delight

oh, mama, see, see--the
black flash shoots from tree to
tree, branches aquiver, then still veins
against a grey sky, pre-snow,
a blank page inviting ink

spattering truth upon the pages,
show us the way to light and truth,
the words of all days over and
again, leading us to the
peace of mid-morning
and the sidewalks dashed
with salt ground beneath the sole

as black-coated men stand soberly,
the highway traffic roars past,
another flower falls from the stem,
and again, we shall have peace,
and light, and truth, all
these ancient lines refreshed
by our tears

as the catering van beats the
light, I am hungry, I am
hungry, an gorta mor

for light, and peace, and truth,
the finest food of all