the older gods

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The older gods kicked a shovel, holding back nothing, especially an intent,
to be wise. O these verses kick arse the sun, but a grave digger without
a kingwise as a hammer wont open a door that's closed shut on its bearings.


A tunnel, nay__ its an open night, a road wide than the swathe, Open yer heart to the hingeless hangin second creates the verse travels in night.

_______________________________________its been a long time since Whitman ran down that road and America's lagged
far behind
its ruthless ruffles
far caught in its
revolutionary struggle
forgot
and amnesia a simple
fact

of cash flow

and even though

its been spared a few high points,

its lowness is never lacking immanence
nor the desire to rework

and recombine

its loves

forget the back
let yer ass shine
yes
sex
glow
in
the dark

of its multitude

over the rim

of a thousand years

Whitman's king of the poets

centuries
roll past his eyes

dogging us down

his humdrum
gather multiplying

our squeeze


these
shoulders

stronger

than
ten ten ton trucks ~







___________________________________

More than a century since the 'old' gods are gone. And good, good for them, and good
for us. We have our experience in its place.



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