As/Is







11.28.2003



in every day something "last"
is reborn in the sun

and in the moon we find a
trace of extinct species #343

how did it get there? we ask
who is the Great Builder of Bridges?

when we ask the question
the doorway screams when we enter

we hide in the doorway as we are told
when the earth takes a vacation

I am the raiment hanging over the fence
drying in the rain as ravens peck the clouds

Hollywood is not Stratford
but illusions will have their out all the same

the Police are now working as Ushers
in the Theater of the Real

this is where a door enters the audience
and Director declares truce with the cast

in time our greatest rages will be gossip
for the amusement of French grandmothers

how did we get here? it asked
only the Police have the keys to the Door

the Director has declared
that Stratford is not Hollywood

I am the dark raiment
covered in raven shit