Law of the Land

i've had many wishes and as many trysts,
many nights with lackadaisy lovers,
many days of unbalanced accounts,
and now so many years to watch them play out---
for something, anything worth knowing an inch.

even the first step from home, i felt called back,
the false light ahead, just a lighthouse,
the true guide behind, my aristotle,
and the horror of learning this too late.
my father was a sage, but not overbearingly so,
he said never sometimes and ever other times,
and left me to learn the rest.

when the sun is out people get tan,
the law of averages is the law of the land.

i wished i were born a rambling man,
with an extra layer of oil on my pollinating feet,
to keep those venus traps from closing in on me,
to help slide out in the nick of all time---
something, anything would have helped an inch.

even when i got away they still infected me,
the false hope of memory,
the misguided what-if principle,
the horrible sting of the super-ego.
the only salve my father provided me was
never go in with a jealous woman
and don't be a womanizer, ever.

hey old man, when the sun is out people get tan,
and the law of averages is the law of the land.

i wished i were born a prudent man,
with a solid working for numbers and ledgers
and two deaf ears i could give money lenders,
a round soundness for measuring schemes---
something, anything would have helped an inch.

even when i got out in front they pulled me back in,
the false messiah of zero percent down,
the misfiring pepsin of asset leverage,
the horrofics of adjustable rate mortgage.
the only advice my father gave me was
make sure you pay yourself first
and never touch your savings, ever.

hey pops, when the sun is out people get tan,
and the law of averages is the law of the land.

sometimes i wish i were born a carefree man
with a datebook full of sailing lessons,
and two cars waiting in my garage,
an open ocean, highway roads awaiting my charge---
something like that, anything but this.

but then i suppose there'd still be something off,
the womanizing neighbors wanting my beer,
the overspending relatives needing my bliss,
the careless attention of my woman and money men.
what advice my father would give a life like this?
be never generous nor parsimonious,
become the ghost, then ever be the legend.

he'd say, bubs, when the sun is out the people get tan,
and the law of averages is the law of their land.

"Now in the Hour of Our Death"

"Now in the Hour of Our Death"

And there passed in one flash the end of the world,
and its blue-green skin burst into char,
and its light sweet air turned rank as sulphur;
there even one's own thoughts were a poison,
one's own memory, premeditation,
and one's own cry for help, the sweat of fiends—
and there,

there stood I, the quiet watch of a child
before his abused mother; her limp body
draped over the well-worn ill-crafting hands
of his God-forsaken father, smothered;
and I immolated by thought, anxiety,
emotion, inert gases that rose up
in me.

Her face, bright as dew in day's thirsty light,
arose like fume from her bare tortured corpse,
this time for the last, to smile judgment
upon her idle boy—that flash, that instant!
My hands uncuffed from the pockets, I fell
prostrate and prayed "O forgive me, Mother,"
and wept.

She gave to me in my instant contrite act,
her benediction—my first and last chance
to wield a manly sword, and to do good,
to renounce my father's work, that I might
stare eyes steam-white at the world's final glow,
and, with a blanched clean conscience, have the right
to die.

Audio File - Now in the Hour of Our Death