Sixth Canto
The promontory under my feet shudders
as my brush hits a reverberating stroke
on my diaphanous canvas of fate while
the golden steel controls all past
and future height and depth
of tender life and its
hardest rigidity as the bottom line
rises to a penultimate
element of importance nothing
stands in front of it no one will
stem its future flow nothing
will ever stand as an impediment
to dark eyes and their thoughts
inventing as if gifted from heaven the
first ever organized corporation under
patronage of the teenage church
devising means and plans for
conquering the cosmos through
sharpness of the double ax or
sword or sulfur
of the bomb conventional or atomic
phosphorescence, fear
schemes world-over
like a bread slice buttered by
movement of the knife in
gluttony’s tenacious hand
covering inside and out of
power lust appetite
for pleasure through darkness
tingling pockets of masters grasping
for purer rarer more as wheat fields
ask the finest question when the cicadas
and I answer from the olive grove:
we can do better
Libros Libertad 