Once rooted, and never more dislodged;
once felt, and never more disowned:
these parasites to reasoning
Recall if you will
the magnificent travel-way to heaven –
before starving refugees of the wayside.
one man’s death an everlasting memorial –
before mourners recounting the holocaust.
the revelation of a new light and a new Jerusalem –
before the weeping and gnashing of teeth.
An End to All Wombs
Many’s the time
I have tried to start over;
takin’ stock of my trade,
trade back all shares taken.
Many’s the heart
has yearned to travel anew,
ponder all through sad life …
life without true wonder.
Many’s the tired
have sought to question Jesus,
show us a better way,
away from this replay:
Can a man climb into womb and be born again?
“It isn’t the time or recovery that prohibits return;
it’s the cry of Rachel for all wombs to end.”
Recalling Another Job
When all that the morning has wafted
turns as rancid as sour milk,
when all that the summer day has well-heated
lies frozen still in fetid wash,
when all that was ever fought and claimed
seethes only with sacred blood lost,
whose seasoned order will preside over the fall?
When those who wait on tables … leave hungry,
or who incorporate your holiness … are disdained,
or who strive for nobility and eternal life …
and die …
whose spiritual breath shall restore life double?
They were early born and late risers;
I was late born and subdued.
From this tardiness of clock,
must I owe a passing levy?
So proudly, so proudly,
found they the joys of lying its own reward.
So proud a self
to be just programmed renouncer –
of those more humbled
by circumstance or mishap or of untimely sequence,
being held depressed
by these mighty slayers of quaint honesty and youth.
Dr. Walter Boswell