If only you would help me see
this mad, intoxic fantasy.
This head so full of twists and doubts,
this mind that reels beneath the lights.
Grab hold of judgement that tends to stray
and lead it to the light of day.
Prismatic semblance of some truth
dark convenor of some proof
that man is made to stand alone.
This body, this bloodied bone,
this tissue that sports, at best,
far-off transcendence
like the rest of humans tide.
Alone? Separate from the crowd
help usher dreams and thoughts aloud.
Find the strangers bed within
and still the ever present din,
calm this bath of noise,
this fearsome tidal reach
of screams, the howling hell's
of conflict play.
No gods or GODS.
No triumphant whole release.
no dismissal of this madness.
Inchoate, incipient.
Babbling epileptic fits
of mental confrontation-
the child and the adult vie
for this man's domination.
Nov 28th 1999
