Overture One’s journey goes a certain distance When a path appears to be a web To be content in such an instance Would be like halting the tidal ebb There are so few means to one’s assistance No strand can support one’s ambition No direction appeals to curiosity No reason can surmount the vision That pride has made apostasy The first step is the one we most dread Yet the duty to vocation reckons To propel us forward despite our wishes One has no choice but to be beckoned And taste the bitter as delicious Somebody help me…

Your Part in the Whole Lost in helicular wandering Feeling this muck of indecision I had no power, was caught in a web When one came before me I well knew The passion of my apathy flew He was some ghost before me now Exuding a vulgar and divine calm I said, “You are humble and exalted Your apparition causes no alarm.” He said, “I’m not a martyr.” I asked, “Do you know a way out of this vivisection?” He said, “There’s no way out as if he knew what was to come. In this desperate state, my son, you have been snookered. You must better know what’s gone on. You simply don’t know what’s been done.” Who dares tell me what I must pursue? Incredibly it was Abraham Lincoln, Who asked, “Who taught you to so depend on yourself? Be patient. I’ll show you what human can mean. You may experience yourself. Your part in the whole.”  

Acid Malefaction A spuming fountain of regurgitation A spuming fountain, it was Ronald Reagan Whose bile reeked of acid malefaction An endless flow of noxious toxication Standing there I smelled his stomach’s contents He didn’t seem to be so very potent I had to ask about his situation But Lincoln scowled at me with chastisation Having named the idealization Of Demos in crystal distillation I asked what we need to pass through the station “All are free to pass without distinction. No one is in need of justification, For their sin.” Then he endured a wicked dry heave

Herbert Hoover Insurance Down and left to a red door Which bore an inscription Forsake, forsake, forsaken “Even if this is true,” Lincoln said “You remain earthly. Anthropomorphification.” All about flew a dust A plague of giant locusts Herbert Hoover Insurance The line behind went on for miles I perceived great frustration Stresses and strains and knotting tension Hungry masses crowded and indignant A creased and sallow mob of resentment We sat there for four score and seven years! We were starving and ill and Hoover appeared With documents to be signed For all of us in the line Lincoln served imprimatur For broadening our horizons I told Hoover there were more My guide took exception, “And so,” Interjected, “We’ll be on our way.”

Silence Lincoln cast a glance that was withering I remembered what he’d said, I should be listening and not blithering Then I was in a dream, Where Lincoln was born in Kentucky And moved to the slave state of Missouri I saw the nation devastated Division across the land Where brothers kill brothers With limbs amputated War ceaseless between them Each one of them damned To cursing revenge on the other Whose mother and sister Were raped by the brother who will always avenge himself For the sins wrought upon him Complete I saw millions maimed and killed This man was a savior as venerably As the souls bayoneted, dying septic deaths In the fields and the cities of the land of liberty But unique in manner and words and sense So I must be silent I have to be silent And I know, I have to be silent Ssshshshshshsh…

Dissolution We turned left and found the door Dissolution Ethereal red in florescent diffusion Across the screens of so many in need of illusion Three youths as if they’d never died Emanating welcoming smiles Marilyn baited us with baleful sighs, “I hope you can stay with us for a while Somebody’s always coming over with some wine.” James asked, “What brings you to our bower?” Lincoln said, “This man journeys to better know his joys.” I couldn’t reach across with my pitying voice Elvis said, “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.” Lincoln said, “Each night this trio of angels dies, All alone, weeping, clawing at their eyes, They metamorphize into fears That cause the clocks to unwind And they die with no one to save them With nothing but what their emptiness gave them No intercession to keep them from the grave When they gave themselves to the crowds of the waves Before they became what they couldn’t sustain.”

My Confusion Was Profound Good God! Down the left, my guide noted my gloom and told me, “Few can love themselves.” I chose to stay silent, he said, “You must be endurant. You may find words unnecessary.” We stepped into fire and adhesion Gasping in molten maternal grasp I straightened my back and panicked like a bug who's been swallowed in a bubble of amber sap. Floating around in aimless drift Dozens of fetuses in relief I wondered how they could subsist in such bereft, one approached and I asked, “Are you sinless?” “We are souls who’ve not seen the day, who know a world of blood sensation. Held away from help to grow, with no hope of Elysium, and Defenseless as gatekeepers.” My confusion was profound My confusion was really profound My confusion was actually seriously fucking profound And it was all I could think about  

The Sine Qua Non My confusion was profound As we passed back into the spacious realm of air Where sound traveled with weight I choked on gas Cold and on my knees, I asked, “Is this the beginning of the journey?” “For a pilgrim, there are many beginnings. All that must wait until the end of it.” I asked, “Who sent you to take me into this fire?!” He: “Your intercessor is she whose love you most admire. Her request is that you give to your host the utmost of your faith.” I: “I will.” I still wondered for whom this hell was corporatized He: “Your Lilica will help you fill in the spaces of your questions.” I could not but consider the love of Lilica As the sine qua non of this brazen adventure How could I proceed with other than humility? I began to take pride in my noble indenture And the many who refuse to join with me Will be left behind with little expenditure  

I Don’t Understand For there are indeed attractions in this progress down and to the left Where my leader took me in seeming digress Sideways, spiraling as a spider weaving a web Through another door, Lincoln entered and turned to me Behind him an empty warehouse of silence As I entered, he faced me sternly, I hesitated, but in randomness is exact science I stepped in to face what my leader spurned to see A light shined on me, I could feel the audience Cheers erupted, cascading echoes, clapping hands, hailing calls and whistles From my having stepped out of the shadows, sharing their love Roses without thistles From an adoring throng whose sheer thin shackles only appeared to be as fine As silken tassels, but would soon reveal themselves as rather less than benign The crowd hushed expecting betrayal, I realized then that they wanted performance The nature of which I was at loss of retrieval, I said, “I don’t understand,” And derision followed The merciless cries of the disappointed fell upon me and I didn’t understand Lincoln soothed me not of the stinging trauma, but his eyes said I was free to walk away So why would I want to enact a drama I hadn’t prepared for one single day? Why not eschew la grande fama and ready myself for the next stage? With some self-pity I turned away, what greater virtue that fame in this age? But Lilica was waiting for me, watching me misread the writing on the page I was illiterate about the cheering, as if imprisoned without bars in a cage

E Io A Lui I wondered how to respond to this dream For despite the boundless irrationality An unrelenting discipline is what it seemed In the presentation of what I had seen E io a lui “Sir, I must admit to some weariness I’d like to sit down and gather up my wits.” My guide was in no mood to debate the matter. “Stand up, young man, remember Lilica awaits.” E io a lui “I am your guide. You are on a journey. You are free to stop but the journey does not end. And if you stop, you take the path of injury, Whereby you will not be lead to Lilica. E io a lui Who doesn’t want to be with Lilica? I mean, who wouldn’t to go and see Lilica? Let’s go see Lilica! E io a lui “You must of your own free will cease this plot, By the recitation of one single word.” I saw the bait and the fish in me said, ‘Take the worm!’ Then I thought about the hook inside the meat. E io a lui Absurd to anticipate the savor of that knowledge Knowing the pain that would come with the pleasure. “I’m wrong to think I’m at my own leisure, Though I can hardly remember where it is I’ve been.” E io a lui “I want to do my duty to those who conceived of me. I hope you can forgive my cracking under pressure.” Lincoln touched my shoulder and I was relieved. I could no longer indulge in my misperceivings E io a lui (2 x’s)

The Pool of Excrescence Part One When I stood my center of gravity was deep below the floor And the central pole was spinning like a top And I felt spite centrifugally welling up An envy of Lilica’s difficult orchestration My guide’s effortless and empty reactions To the twisted machinations of our descent My Uncle striding forward without symptom He told me to remember I am a witness. I gagged as we entered the cavernous pool. I puked as soon as I reached the railing On my knees, I barfed for all the injustices Of my fathers, and all their failings All the other bathers did the same thing Puking and pissing, shitting and snotting layers deep Expectorating and ejaculating a gruel Similar to chicken chimichanga and tequila Then I saw the surface of the pool A firm custard A cornucopia of human effluvia

The Pool of Excrescence Part Two And one other man appeared Pince-nez and a full body black cotton bathing suit The flat flaccid face of a great academician He seemed to want to bear himself as a saint He offered his hand to my guide, who said, “No.” And then he said, “I’m not any soda jerk, but Woodrow Wilson Son of my father, whom you may know.” Lincoln said, “I know not, but don’t bother with that.” “I am the swimmer of this pool of excretions, I’m proud to do it, For self-determination, for peace, for everybody, for democratization.” He stepped up and dived into the semi-solid liquid His crawl was flawless and, when he came up for air, Only small globules of detritus had tipped in To his mouth, but that was more than I could bear. I asked, “What can this mean in proper time and space?” Lincoln smiled, “Patience.” “But I feel like a blind spelunker And the cave is getting more fierce, more base.” “Trust not your senses, trust your release from this canker. Trust Lilica. Let all the rest wait.” Wilson swam nobly and with stamina Despite the accumulating putridity which filled My esophagus with a bilious inflaming. It was really uncomfortable “We always try to normalize mutantcy, when we could embrace mutant normalcy.” Then another man in a full body bathing suit entered He was shorter, stockier, a bulldog I didn’t recognize him as he strode to us intently, but he said, “Are you not Abraham Lincoln, the barque in which union was saved from secession?” “I am Lincoln, I attest to nothing else. My purpose and the intent of Lilica of love Is to allow this man to better know himself.” Then I recognized, “You are Winston Churchill. You’re British.” He: Did you know my mother was an American?” My guide seemed disoriented aabout this odd note “It seems this place must have changed since my last journey in.” Churchill said, “I used to come here often also, but then I took up painting, And tick tock, I found peace of mind.” Then I asked, “And yet, you’re here.” “Purely circumstantial. Nature’s asymmetry shows us that formlessness is not a fault Where cosmos is generated from chaos, And so I swim through these effluvients.” Wilson came back stinking like shit to say “I shouldn’t leave without saying one more word. There is no such category as ‘good.’ Pursue what you will but call it not ‘goodness.’ Lest you presume too much and end with self-overcoming Based on pride, empty validations, and the lewdness Of manipulated desires ripe for exploitation Think of what the road to hell is imbued with And find some other intent to go exploring.”  

Manifest Destiny “A ya no significa nada!” My sight focused on the brash and bully man Whose guts were strewn through space Insects were eating them and flying off I asked, “Why are you so deeply damned?” And he said, “Manifest destiny.” “I started this, but then Satan took over Working schemes I couldn’t cover Then all hell broke loose. It’s hard walking softly And carrying a big stick When you’re manifest destiny Time is on the side of decay, it’s presumption lying About a golden age, or global capitalism When we defy the structure of nature And cramp men into manifest destiny Into boxes, with engines, with wires, with tires With appliances and electricity.” He tried to raise his hands, but he couldn’t He groaned and we left him as he was With his manifest destiny Then he threw up cockroaches.

Radioactive Mist I began to swing upside down in a pendular motion Slowly across a widening arc And then at the peak of the widest swing I held fast, and Harry Truman appeared He was an open putrefying corpse Obviously melted by some intense force Incinerated but alive, he didn’t speak but moaned, “OOOOooooooooOoOOooooooohohohoh” I asked, “You have two punishments?” “Oh yes,” he hissed in searing winces, “I remember you. Now you see better. Well I suppose there’s some justice in it after all I pushed the button that cemented this hell. OOOooooooooooooooooooooohohohohohohohooooooo If only FDR had lived another year, But you’ve seen his comeuppance. I’d rather be the worst sufferer in hell, than to be Satan’s lackey. From here I see all. OOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooOOOOOooooooOOOOOOOOOOOO” I could sense the radioactive mist emanating from his shadow. It burned my swollen eyes.

Everybody Gets Theirs It was Nixon. I wasn’t astounded. “Where else would I be?” he asked nonchalantly. Then Satan appeared formless And he began to flay Nixon with his fingernails Pinched together, stripping the skin so that blood Seeped out into space as steam rises from boiling water. A caustic sizzle ensued which tormented the howling president He cried, “Cover it up! Cover it up!” Satan looked at me, “Any questions?” “If Nixon gets this treatment, what of Stalin and Mao?” “Everybody gets theirs.” “Where is my guide?” “He is with you although you doubt it. That’s where I come in, when you begin to believe otherwise.” “How do I get home?” “How do I get home,” he said, “You’re not going home.”  

To Touch that Earth I felt a string snap and was in free fall I didn’t recall my previous life I made no covenants with myself No promises. No renunciation. I was not scared I wanted to touch Lilica’s hand To be relieved by her presence And I knew it would come I wanted to see my guide again So that I would know each step was bringing us closer And like the wanderer I wanted To see the land I once knew From which I had been exiled On this perditious pilgrimage To touch that earth And to look up at those stars