If I'm a bottom feeder, well then, I can't get to the bottom of it, but mouth sucks.
I may be the ankle-biter who just misses the bone, but bitten and biting am I.
My tears wash over stony, steely eyes, pierced and resurrected,
Mine stymied, like animal pancakes stacked, who stop to fill me up lifelessly,
And I take a nap without cleaning the dish.
And from the cloud-nine skies, from where my mind seeks the eye of the storm,
I am keeping and kept between the calm and the tempest.
The help on the way got here, and found me, and starving, I got a little taste,
A little nourishment, a little mercy, salvation, deliverance, and yeah, the help!
All this has been roasted on the rock tops a'glowing,
Where dust of roots sparkle fire to wind's breath,
And these water wings suit me,
They fit just right and arrived.
The rage of Eden is so distended here,
It's ready to pop and belch! It's dancing! It's hissing!
At the end of the meeting, as I wonder,
My grey whiskers melt and grow matted on the foggy mirror of the moment,
Where the moon river pulses, flowing poisonously, a polluted pool of filth.
Eden, enraged beneath and beside, is tolling the bells eternally,
Ringing them, ringing them, for ever after!
Then, thunder aloft, teases, tempting laughter, freezing,
And finally forges forward, swooping up a tired lung of mine,
Which is keeping and kept between the calm and the tempest.
Oh, truth is a burglar! I say, "Stop, thief, you brute!!"
The sea is still like ice for ice-skates,
And the decaying, rotten past breathes imperceptibly,
Through the vent in the oven where our self-opinions bake,
All entwined like yeasty, moldy penicillin bread,
And our clothes are virtually burning to ash,
In the gaze of the all-seeing eye, unbeknownst to us,
Except we know, in hearing that other wisdom from one crying, newly born,
A one who is keeping and kept between the calm and the tempest!
~
Ankle biter tasting the bone,
Blood and guts all over the phone,
This doesn't help me get smooth.
SCA. Fall, 2005