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Elijah the ProphetAnd in it Poetry will matter again. I'll untie myself from this corpse And roll away the fire on my tongue. In my dream I'll have never heard of rape Or what women do to men Reds and blues will be dim again Faded and ready to roar into skies and sunsets. I'll line up the rain in bottles from my youth And I won't need labels 'cause I'll know each one by taste Like what kisses were to me once. I'll collapse into the embrace of untested passion A burning black crack-snake on the 4th of July Crumbled into wind strewn wisps Consumed by the few precious seconds that remain lucid In the cluttered chess board of my mind. I'll arm-wrestle Shelly on a Mahogany coffee-table And she'll beat me Because I make her strong. We'll laugh true together at midnight. Elijah will love us with his whole being Not because he is our son But because all things must love. I'll pace through hotel rooms like a madman Who is naked in my bed? What fist is cracking at the door? I'll go back to sleep after lunch Lusting with unquenchable thirst Stopping at the river to wet my hair Mustering a thousand feet to trample the grapes of my desire. My sea-green eyes will snap open in my sleep The lashes reaching for pain. I'll paint all the walls with a hammer. Still snoring loudly -- I'll paint my hands with nails Chopping down forests of crosses and singing guitar prayers. Elijah the Prophet road a chariot to the sky Elijah my son Is my dream And in him poetry will matter again. all works on this page Copyright 2002 by Jacob Pederson . |