As/Is







6.06.2015


From Hinge Online '03: Technician of Tough Love

Puzzling your way back to nothingness 
you must be; if the Void is an abyss,
 
to conquer it in life is impossible.
 
There is a blessing in ritual,
 
but it is all on this side.
 

Your private treasures I never knew;
 
beyond the Indian drums (of which you had
 
a collection), was there something,
 
some book, some record, you prized
 
above all others?
 

You were a technician of tough love,
 
collected hearts; had a passion
 
for Chinese herbs boiled down
 
to the root, to retrieve essential,
 
healing strength;
 

ministered weary angels
 
needing succor, familiar w/ your tongue,
 
your breath, the beating of your heart.
 
Saintly, to feed some soul's need
 
for flesh, nectar, sanctuary,
 
oblivion;
 

now its death's mystery 
from which you can't escape-
 
maybe. I profess & confess
 
utter bewilderment.
 

Remember lunches
 
at Essene, 4th Street, the crutch
 
of good caffeinated coffee, conversation,
 
a few hours rest; was eternity
 
there, watching you, waiting silently
 
to bear naked flanks
 
to your moribund pleasure?
 
Who can tell what world
 
will fit a restless spirit well?