The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 3/15/09 (language warning)

[BlueIris]

"Jonathan (Samuel (Abner)
(Ibid) and His Last Words"

There is no way of knowing.
The sheep loathe the deer.
The fox rushes hindward, excreting a jewel.
There is no departure.
The stream copes with the stone.
More is the mercy.
The two fawns stand frozen.
Their eyes are all pupil.
For example, the Bible.
Each song spectacular & nothing is new.
The pepper is speckled.
The dogmeat uneaten.
The pig but in whispers.
The logical principle guiding the fishes.
If we cast wide our nets.
The fecund present trembles at bowlrim.
I have lost the lust of the goat in my tweeds.
His "Last Words" forgotten, the night nurse was dozing.
The salt contains rice grains to soak up the moisture.
I would pinch out the candle.
We are morsels of worship.
The hour is elastic, the lifetime a gloss.
May I punish no innocent.
He who murders his mother will always kill others.
Justice is juicy.
Mercy a lemon.
The darkness total.
After death I will go where I was before birth.
The soul in a haycart.
It will wear the black bonnet of discipline.
It will wear the throat lace and the brooch that weeps.
Down fucking & wisdom & liquid & solid.
To crack its gorged egg.
The trumpet's gold mouth will turn red.
The saxophone hung from the beard will straighten.
Then I will know my doctor, my surgeon.
For all the entities will be but events.
And the fossils will squirm in the limestone.
I will see through my flesh like saran.
These eyeballs. These teachings. These sperm.
The lure will splash and the line be invisible.
No immaculate marble, no nymph fixing sandal.
The clouds in their eulogies will lose track and vanish.
I will run the film of my life. Backwards for laughs.
The whiskers of strawberries, the clean-shaven snakes.
I will sit up suddenly in the casket's satin.
The moment, the hung dot, the cough in the audience.
I have worn out my welcome.
Take my ring and my nose.
The brain is a furnace.
Is transformed and transforms.
I have soiled my solo.
In midair the lit dust is swimming.
Ten thousand times random and then once a Rose.
To the does the meek sheep seem savage.
Mostly it's music.
The cello is oxblood.
It is no sin that the skin fits so tightly.
He is stiff, but a candle.
Unnamed goes the embryo.
How many eyeballs to fill this straw hamper?
The jellyfish dangle.
Unlucky chameleon, lime green in black cat.
You are dead but don't know it, he said. Yet I heard him.
I gave God a lamb but He spat it out.
That was pre-logic.
Which is why I was born.
May my dog not avenge me.
The piano is open. The strings gleam in the lid.
Its lacquer looks famished. Gorged,
I climb in.

~Stan Rice