Friday, November 2, 2018

Beyond Belief



.
Chimeras and archetypes, iconic interlopers, fantasies,
projections of our most ferociously unspeakable desires
burning in inevitable fires of resistance to them: there,
.
we think, for clarity. Some loves we only know through
others’ hatred of them: opposites define, it’s often said.
But oh, to find these things in bed, as in a dream of them
.
or as an awkward actuality, a “real” attempt to pummel
Word until it’s turned into complaining Flesh, battered
and unbeautiful at best. Our synapses seem fixed on
.
these depictions of ambivalence, perhaps as some believe
because of a divine decree that an imbalance be redressed –
that blessings cannot come except through war which pits
.
each able virtue we have got against the hot destruction
of our fiercest lusts and truest terrors. If so, it all ends
badly – riddled with ineptitude and error which do little
.
but provide a tangled super-imposition of meticulously
outlined and ridiculously meaningless extrusions,
streaming out like blind, benignly amiable snakes into
.
a chaos which, when we imagine we are able to regard it
from a distance far enough above to get the larger view,
seems overall to be a pleasant symmetry, a composition

wherein nothing is awry. To which, my God, if such there be,
is this your answer to our Why? Flatulently uninventive
and haphazard, bored: face it, Lord. I mean, Oh fucking my.
.
Unless, my silly un-ingenious and imperfect God, you’re us.
And we keep making all this frantic fuss because we like it.
It’s like a punch. Some say it isn’t punch until you spike it.
.

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