Gift Of The Demiurge (The Boy With The Phoenix Tattoo)

“But he grew old–

This knight so bold–

And o’er his heart a shadow–

Fell as he found

No spot of ground

That looked like Eldorado.”

-Edgar Allan Poe

The foghorn moans so mournful and loud,

Like a mechanical Poseidon.

I’m lost in a sea of faces,

At a banquet prepared for nobody.

I’m blowing formaldehyde-tainted breath,

To keep the hungry flies away,

While stuck somewhere I was never meant to be–

Robotically waiting on something precious,

That’ll never satisfy.

Just another empty promise to myself,

That tomorrow I’ll find my way back home–

Knowing full well that tomorrow is just another someday,

And someday never comes.

You know I’ve always said to live now,

And suffer later.

There are no churches on 13th Street,

You won’t find God under the freeway.

If Christ or Buddha or the One True King returned,

Would we even recognize him?

A dope sick angel sang in the subway,

Her voice penetrated the shadow and sin.

Her words spoke of coming down to unknown depths,

And remembering all the high places we’ve been.

I found Jesus panhandling in front of the 7-11.

We talked of why all the men smoke cigarettes,

And all the women smell like heaven.

He told me “Heaven is only as real as your love for me,

And neither could I ever grasp.

History and hell both repeat themselves,

Until you get over the past.”

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~ by Jesse Stonefield on October 26, 2015.

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