by LJ Frank
thou and i are passersby
we give names to a person or deity
to enhance the nature of approachable
and then to bestow upon them attributes
we seek the unknown under the waiting mushroom clouds
scorching the sky
our nemesis in life, whomever they are, eventually perish
like us…though the shadows remain for generations
and some deaths are more ignominious than others
leaving a tragic toll in their path to power
and names are carved in the base of statues
between the legs with a view of the inguina
and still, sobriety arrived in the form of a black marble wall
with white letters of a half-forgotten presence
manipulations compose an incision of red
a crevice in a cheek of a redemptive canticle
why do so many continue to cherish the sport of blood
filtered through the sieve called games of civility?
for within the strategic globe of the mind
a refinery for ideas is bewildered
the role of the cross retains no dignity
except for those who are obsessed with control
property and people are products
narcissism is a paper mâché tool in academia
tenure is a game of lust
and the private face of an imaginary Lucifer
is hidden in public while a mistress suggests
the message is the massage in the electronic global village
with shadings of Marshall McLuhan
and another sheet of ice separates while deserts increase in size
misplaced trust with names etched on architectural statements
the futility of Freudian and Jungian analysis
a disturbed brain births the paradigm of structural ignorance
and a situational philosopher peeks through the existential curtain
to capturing a view of a biological signature on his mobile phone
courageous is Hermaphroditic wisdom
in the best of both world’s theater
for adaptability survives under the sun and moon
and The Era of the Cell is upon us
and the seasons will come again
intriguing in the splendid colors of hope’s flexibility
for the optimist is truly optimistic
when cash lines the pockets of Cloth
yet, income is only meaningful to the masses
when equitable, but who is listening
the crowd follows the gold brick road
that scripture was written while under the influence
in a divine ruler’s quest
the charismatic voice of squalid reasoning nods, what are options
justice lifts its leg of a stud or sire approaching a fire hydrant
the yellow stains of nature’s color anoint the phallic symbol of chance
the beauty of the celebrity is embraced
trophies line the glassed-in shelves
the eyes of the beholder are blurred
the stinging wetness is a healing
as the saltiness of ambiguity is revealed
all is natural in the field of human genetics
for one realizes the seeker’s heart is inevitably alone
in the final moment of its journey
with a fleeting vision of a passing life
a thought is but a receding glow
how could it have been any different?
