An unfinished poem….

The poem below is unfinished. Unpolished. But… you should be able to get the gist….

This poem is the sole property of its author and is published here with his permission. This poem may not be published, excerpted, reproduced or copied (stolen) in any form without the expressed permission of the owner of this intellectual property….

The Invisible Beast of 90377 Sedna.

by 1.

2000.30.5.2013-2030.29.10.2013

the Borderlands, Lexington, Massachusetts and the Hinterlands, Leominster, Massachusetts… on the Eve of Destruction….

#

#

Behind each sepia face-shield…

stalks…

the Rabid Beast!

Unseen….

Occult….

Insatiable….

(A cuttlefish camouflaged in sepia ink….)

This monster feasts on fragile hopes

(and dreams)

of far off homes

(and FEARS!!! of dissipation….)

that seem light years away….

Light years away….

Riding the Cycle of Time….

As if in some thought…

some unseen dream…

of some far off future yesterday….

Some winsome lass cavorts

in some fertile field

once green,

now sere…

scorched drab, dull grey…

by nuclear processes

unclear megatons….

Perhaps… the Sun…?

Unknown forces stumble on unceasingly boldly…

like random numbers on tumbling dice….

Make way! Make way! We mustn’t delay….

No doubt. No destination. Hurry! Hurray!

RUN!!!

#

No prayer from mystic tonsured priest…

no incense burned in Holy Censure…

no Holy Water sprinkled…

no Sacred Bull’s Blood splattered…

no alchemy…

no mage’s alembic…

no retort has power to distil a drought…

an elixir of life strong enough to reverse…

this dread dispensation….

No mortar and pestle could combine powders

nor Physic compound a pill

potent enough to heal

much less cure

or even defend against

this ill thus ill defined…

this curse once silent… spoken…

this sentence once pronounced….

This death broken free

from bondage…

Like bones laughingly crushed

from gay chains threshed….

I fear our Fate…

our storm-tossed lives will soon end…

as we began…

inert….

(No Mystical, Magical or Mortal thing mattered.

The Physician’s and Priest’s vocations

seem impotent to thwart this…

Hate….

This intensely malevolent State of Being….

The Scholar… the Scribe… the Star-crossed Seer

seemed equally at a loss.)

I think I see some fearsome beak

hidden behind a lawyers lying lips

as he speaks beautiful words

that obfuscate the facts…

the truth….

The grip of death awaits….

The fate of man swims

boldly forth

into the waiting cold eyed stare…

unaware of lurking Death…

unwary of his snare….

He does not deign to share his ken,

preferring pain that is not his own

to any discomfort upon his throne.

#

                    Fear consumes

Chivalrous intent.

Hate devours

Justice.

Mercy… DEAD!!!

Killed in Justice’s blind rage…

at ghosts….

At insult…

stolen like a glance…

(unsuspected…)

from the others….

(Injustice wears a mask

and the Badge of Justice…

then SCREAMS:

“Disturb the balance….

Weigh the feather…!

For just us….

Not them

not this time….

Meanwhile… a clown cries… laughing… to himself….

Soot-stained the suit of the Old Loon as he stood

to speak sooth before the Assembled Miners:

“Kill them ALL I say!

Kill them now! Without delay!

Don’t allow the scum to speak soothing words.

Offer some atoning bonus…

that will ne’er be paid…

and we all know it….

DO NOT BE ASSUAGED!!!”

The dirty Old Loon,

realizing he’d captured the room,

preached on in sagely sonorous tones….

“They’re no better and no worse than us,” he screamed.

“Just a better class of criminal!”

He said with disgust:

“They’ve stolen our lives…

stolen our dreams…

enslaved our minds…

long enough it seems…

at least to me….”

The decrepit Miner further pronounced in his huff:

“Let our crime on this rock profit us for a change!

Discrimination is good….

Just….

Enough…

for now…

when my I sees my profit.”

(Recriminations make scandalous perfidy

even more perfect it seems…

I must confess…!)

“We must redress

the pain that hovers

deep in memory

(and just beneath my skin)

… at unintended hurt….

They must make amends for those long dead

who first committed such sins!”

Thus begins the path to the sublime… some said….

Others shouted….

(Passions thus inflamed often o’erwhelm saner heads…

and ALL compassion….)

“Besides…

he who calls the tune…

shames the criminals…

and names their crimes…!”

he said (his face obscured

because his sepia face-shield was distorted by steam).

#

Vengeance…

minute (yet intolerable) disrespect…

one mere mote in one man’s eye…

a speck disputed

beckons a bullet in his brother’s….

#

          What sets the tone…?

Picking a bone…?

Tone of voice….

Tone of skin….

(Where do I begin to describe this sin…?

Omission…?

Commission…?

Lack of submission…?

Just plane aggravation…?

A drain on good judgment…?

Who can say, truly…?

Who can say…?

And… from whence comes our Salvation…?)

#

     Suddenly…

surely…

even obscurely…

with no REAL provocation…

for some unclear irrational unreason

dogs of war are unleashed…

set upon the scent until spent…

upon the seemingly innocent…

in steamy jungles and scorching sands…

in far off lands across the globe…

Death from above stalks unseen…

untold horror released…

freely…

greedily stealing lives… and dreams…

until the debt is paid…

our insatiable thirst for lucre… slaked….

Then… ALL reload… HATE….

And in Death’s wake…

wave shake fetid sulfur lakes

while untolled bells at untold wakes…

unspoken Masses…

unofficiated funerals…

and unsung memorials for unsung heroes…

souls sold like coal

or coke to the highest bidder….

Awake from sleeping!

AWAKE NOW!!!

For Death comes.

The fog of sleep obscures the light.

Still…

Death comes to all on ravishing wings:

Complete victory…!

Where…?

In this scrum…?

His sting strikes swift and sure….

Man was created in light…

yet abides (better… thrives) in darkness….

In haste… man pursues:

Dark matter….

Dark energy….

Dark GLORY!!!

All ours….

Our DREAM now stolen, still we stumble on

following…

our beautiful Queen…

our bountiful King…

our amoral leaders…

our lasting lust…

our ultimate quest…

our fatal reward…

our final bequest…

DEATH!!!

Quintessential TRUTH!!!

WORD!!!

Death comes to all

such….

(Ha! I almost saidmen”!

Still…

Death

does

come

to all…

a death from within….)

#

                              Our Priest sagely speaks

(rather questions obscurely):

“How did man embrace this Fate…?

Fear….

And hate….

And vengeance….

RAGE!!!

Worthy all,

surely!

But what about Pride…?

Duly, must I ask…

is Pride not at all part of the cause?

Of the Fall…?”

The corpulent curate

sat in repose

and sweated profusely

as he pondered his toes…

(years hence unseen I propose)….

His queer query…

innocent

enough,

I suppose…

(if officious…).

#

A sonorous, yet still “Rhetorical” question?

At least he seemed to think so,

I mean.

I offered an answer (unbidden of course). A boon. A favor.

The prelate’s response?

He nearly choked on a wafer.

“Pride impeaches ALL love,” said I.

Leaving nothing to chance,

in explanation… I quickly riposted:

“Truly, Pride is a powerful drug!

Pride

in a job done well

outbids

friends…

family…

all such affections….

Except fame and fortune….

(Snakishly sibilantly I say…)

Few further exceptions exist-s-s-s

in a world of mere existences….”

Murmuring softly to himself, “Oh, bother…!”

the corpulent cardinal slinked away to his father…

as the genuflecting Bishoprick insists….

#

#

Light!

Pure LIGHT!!!

Light from the Sun cannot reach this enclave.

This cave.

This Trans-Neptune Object….

This penitential planetesimal….

This dank damp fetid mining camp

beyond the frayed

far edge of sanity….

(like holy pants that barely hide our shame)

Far beyond the Kuiper Belt….

(that slips below our knees…

and trips us…

as we run…

SCREAMING!!!

A brooding NIGHTMARE that never seems to end…

once beginning….)

#

Patter, patter, patter, patter….

The sounds of the footpads of rats in their cages

running around wheels of our own making sounds

that resound in their heads…

disturbing… absurd…

like scurrying pause….

While Outside… TRUTH rages… largely unheard….

The patter and natter of rats on the run….

Words without meaning run through our heads….

Da-DUM!!! Da-DUM!!! Un-DONE!!! Un-DONE!!!

The clanking of hammers

and coins of gold….

Can we never break the mold…?

I wonder what the future holds for mere mortal man…?

Can we be cajoled into labors

(… again…?)

for dubious profit…?

My soul…. My soul…. My SOUL!!! Sold.

Or…

finally fed up

will we repent…?

Will we allow ourselves to quit running round…

like two-legged rats

told run faster or die!

poked and prodded by fat cats

in Control Rooms…

controlling our lives….

Can we stop NOW…?

At least sometime soon…?

Before we drop…?

DEAD…?

And we’re shoved into our tombs…?

#

Again we meet a friend…

A tattered dressing gown transfixing…

(time…

a watch… a clock… a broken piece

of Einstein’s shattered mind-games…

a train of thought off the tracks…

never trained to tempera(l) paint

within the ceaseless lines…

no more…

exist no more…

exist no less…

endure the madness…

the statistical fecundity…

promiscuous profundity…

irrational probability…

that spun us all…

from ceaseless silver cords…

uncut…

yet unraveling…

those threads…

untouched by human hands…

our fates…

woven into the frail fabric of Space-Time….)

tranforms…

transmutes…

transmorphs into a Mage’s robe:

A true metamorphosis indeed!

Behold! The Prophet speaks

in clandestine parables

pronounced in calloused tones

as thick as the skin on his knees:

“Seek ye first the Kingdom of Mammon!

(A seed of TRUTH thus planted!)

With the treasure you dig there

Invest in yourself: THINK!!!

Buy your freedom!

90482 Orcus…?

A mining shaft of light

she was to me then…

a consort…

a wife…

compared to this slave pen, at least,

where mortal men ourselves enslave…

to.

this.

BEAST!!!”

(I hear later the Mage recanted

and agreed to wear a leash!)

#

#

In the Öpik-Oort Cloud

(a dim district indeed)

sits a dim red light

–90377 Sedna–

so far from civilized society…

that savage men sip synthetic wine…

(through fangs)

in feigned civility….

(Productive mining requires the right tools…

and a few left wing-nuts….)

Women–exquisite creatures… exquisitely rare–

(even Silicone Sisters are rarely found there…

so I surmise other circuits must provide less static…

or a picture… an End Game… more clear…)

yield…

opinions…

coveted…

if not necessarily concise,

but any true lady’s interpretations certainly would be…

fair…

and her assessments…

true:

“Everything is false here

everyone is fake

so

don’t believe much of what you read or hear

don’t make too much of gossip on-line

or social media posts

don’t partake of the heavenly hosts

from church bake sales

and such….”

She knits her brow

and her veil from the same spool of yarns,

while addressing the pool boy/play toy…

with a wicked smile….

Such a savage slut!

She pretends to drink deeply from both sides

of the cup of sorrow.

Tomorrow she expects to return–

doublecrossing the Bridge of Sighs–

(the unfathomable void…

isn’t that queer…?)

In Confession the Vixen turns aside

to consult a peer….

(Behind a gun-metal grey glove the grey lady confides:

I mean

its all fine, but

if you fuck up

you could wind up looking the fool….)

#

#

The Bull-Priest of Mithras reciting the Mysteries

Turned on his heals and solemnly squealed:

“Hark!”

Then giddily spat while dribbling spit,

“She is lost! Her shot missed the mark!”

Prancing the pulpit like some goat headed god,

reading his sermon notes,

his head started to nod

(rhythmically).

The dancing primate first paused,

pursed his lips,

then spat out a curse–

he was heard to remark:

“The Debauched Whore is finally revealed!”

The prancing priest genuflected

then worked on a visiting Bishoprick

from that position.

butt blowing his chance best he conceited,

he swallowed. The pro arose

exposing his ridiculously calloused knees.

#

#

“I thus conclude… from such foul acts…

wanton attacks on an important visitors character…

that the Sun lacks power to penetrate this dark abyss…

this Stygian Skull….

And thus… cannot these shadows slay…

deep-set dark desires….

We are all cinereal shades…

our souls consumed by dark fire….

What power can save our incinerated ashes…?”

#

Returning to his lonely Womb,

the Bard recants a different tune:

The GLOOM!!!

The GLOOM!!!

Back and forth.

And back and forth.

And back and forth I walk.

This dismal room…

this bed and bath

and nothing more

surrounds me like a sepulcher.

Who dares release me from this tomb…?

This unspeakable FATE…?

This pit of flesh in which I dwell…?

This meat-jacket…?

This unspeakable HELL….

TOO LATE!!! TOO LATE!!!

I fear… too late….

I am too late….

And… I fear….

Too late…

I fear…

my dreams….

The Wanton Whore of Desolation…

dispensing ineffable damnation….”

Comprehending the horror…

finally awake…

he screamed….

And knocked at the door…

but…

at what door must he seek salvation…?

#

#

The Priest conspired.

He no longer prayed

for souls departed…

unless some further funds were started in some subtle way

(to be discussed without remorse).

Of course, disgust is a better way to describe

such wanton acts…

their diatribe

directed at remuneration–

their own financial salvation…

their main preoccupation….

#

(The cost of burying corpses–like Easter–is risen!

If he were merely a skeleton,

any castle closet would be

much more than sufficient

for any mortal king to visit!)

#

The only sin that these pushy parsons apparently know…

would be to reaping only what they themselves sow….

They pray… then they turn…

then they prey… again….

They eat and drink and seek their swell pay….

They seem to send bills and

parishioners to Hell equally well….

#

And the doctors in charge are shameful at best:

performing procedures they don’t understand

at the behest of their pocketbooks.

And academics.

All crooks.

And fools.

But they run the schools

that train the best!

(Or so they attest….)

I cannot suffer fools…

especially fools who make suffer good men!

Not simply fools…

feckless foolish TOOLS!!!

Lying FUGU!!!

Poisonous puffers

who flog the infirmed.

“We’re wasting daylight!”

they cry to the ill

and the dying.

Instead of weal, they do working men harm.

Across the gates of Hell they fly in their haste.

They’re simple children.

Nothing more than a game to them.

And in their financial ledgers…

Prayers and false procedures both look the $ame to them….

They rend payment from men broken on wracks…

backs broken on jackhammers in dark, deep mines,

giving no slack on payment

and no quarter.

Screaming in pain

and writhing in agony

both pay the same fines!

(The $ame story again!)

$hame on them!

$hame I say!

$hame, $hame, $hame,

$HAME!!!

But of that they seem destitute.

(A bankruptcy they can’t comprehend.)

#

The Grim Reaper holds no fear for such businessmen,

(should he deign to descend to their world–

less comfortable than his own by far!)

but “The Father of Lies” pays tribute

to such hypocritical men….

Of course, he knows them well…

sees them for who (and what) the sots are…

not just his children,

indescribable DROSS!!!

Still…

God knows

them NOT!!!

(And THAT is no palpable loss….)

#

What’s that…?

A flute…?

The sad sound from the bamboo vibrates

on the very edge of infinity….

Gesticulating wildly…

the Old Loon cavorts in his finest regalia…

a lonely mating dance with himself…

conducted with furious Saturnalian fury….

Hark! Behold! The plaintive wail….

Behold! The bold and brave Old Loon…!

“Greed….

Greed….

GREED!!!”

Agreed.

#

#

What’s that supposed t’be…?

Some kinda joke…?

Then I awoke. Saw things for what they are….

Today….

Not in some far off future fuckin’ yesterday….

I saw the real deal…. Heard Orwell’s pigs squeal:

WAKE UP!!! SHIT!!! ITS 1984!!!

Are we too late?

#

#

Red. Intense. Fiery. HATRED!!!

In clever disguise, of course!

Benign. Malign. (It blows my mind to think….

I know most don’t… or won’t….

Refusing to study the clues…

Men lose perspective…

Direction….

The resulting elections are ludicrous

due to lack of…

Connection… with reality…

enjoying the Con Job…

Like it was a blowjob…

The business… the jizzness… it’s all taste the same….

Just part of the crime… the pain… the shame….

Just part of the game. Of life…. Just WIN, Baby!!!)

#

I shiver when I dare look back…

Cold… calculating stairs…

descending depths… consider…

this intensely malevolent State of Being…

into which we’re constantly…

consistently… descending….

#

#

I don’t mean to be crude, but the stunning lack of verisimilitude and integrity leave me with serious concerns about the path we’re on now. The attitude. Lack of gratitude. Lack of concern for others. Greed trumps true need. We’re sowing the seeds of discontent for political expediency. Dancing to the toons… but pushing the piper’s payment into the distant future… when we hope someone else will foot our bill….

#

When things fall apart, at least we got all we could grab with both hands…. Ain’t life grand, my child…?

#

And so… the cycle begins again…. The savage Beast smiled….

Advertisements

One thought on “An unfinished poem….

  1. Pingback: An unfinished poem…. | Wright-Wang Extreme Mystery, Inc.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s