2016 09 16
When all the stories we can tell are done,
and every locked door hangs broken in wind,
who will climb the tree leaning from the cliff
of despair and fight the sarcastic snake
of death for the fruit of knowledge and lies?
When the ravens gather on leafless trees,
and every child throws real name in the lake
of broken skulls, who will drive their new car
on the gleaming highway though the full moon
reveals crimes of blind faith in civil war?
When every book of new stories and poems
is burned by homeless people by locked church
to keep warm, and all great paintings are blanked
by white mud, who will plant gold seeds of corn
and dig canals from streams poisoned by oil?
When all the actors who strutted on stage
of disguised truth to portray angry kings,
and last queen weeps locked in tower of glass,
who will carve magic runes on shinining screens
of computers that calculate our hearts?
When the last wet human brain is encased
in polished metal skull of robot shells
that operate planes and cars, who will sing
spiral algebra of butterfly wings
that record war of brass angels at dawn?
When the laughing psychiatrist unchains
god-spirit of Apollo to possess
my body, and Kwan Yin kisses my eye
of inner wisdom, who will drive the van
with cameras to map labyrinth of myths?
When the Lion Queen ascends old pyramid
of ten thousand eyes to rule the whole world
with microphone, and sings enchanting spells,
who will record the stories Muses hide
before she resurrects child of the horse?
When King Saturn wearing crown of oak horns
returns from waste land quest as Jesus Christ,
and drinks the blood of the lamb, who will leap
from lightning-shattered tower to fly home
and take us all to heaven without wings?