The Answer

My consciousness melts

into the meandering current of the one-stream

creating countless opportunities to elucidate this mess

this world, this fantastic illusion we call waking that can’t be captured

with phrases like fantastic illusion –

it would take an exploration of every idea

and millennia in celestial museums

communing with the great masters

of muckety muck

who take tea in bathtubs –

like a picnic with Jesus on the National Seashore

or shopping with Nietzsche and seeing the look on their faces

when we walk into Wal-Mart wearing armor

where I’ll inquire of Mr. Machiavelli: Mets or Yankees my friend?

to which he would naturally advise

better start reading the Bible on the can instead of comics

except for Mother Goose & Grim

and get Walt Whitman’s take on preemptive war

but he would only remind me

we been down that road before –

remember the blood on the soil? –

you can see it for $7.50 but the beers are through the roof

where you can rumble with rednecks with Rousseau in your corner

coming off a walk-off homerun off of Emerson in Bean Town

and when I got home with that ball signed by so much suffering

I threw it out the window to Gautama

but he didn’t have his glove

or anything else

so that stone struck the Pyramids where

roadies for the Dead were packing up

and got stuck in St. Steven’s sock

which he hadn’t washed since Gomorrah

which reminds me I got something to do.

Published by

The Ranfurly Review

Issue 13

December 2010

http://www.ranfurly-review.co.uk/issues/The_Ranfurly_Review_Issue_13.pdf