the magic words
I am yearning and pleading
for the animals to teach me
the mysteries of their ordeals and joys
in their own language,
not mine.
I am busy — writing by Rob Breszny
illustrations by Ishu Patel
I AM BUSY
I am busy
today and tomorrow
and next week
and for as long as it takes
struggling to change
the way my eyes work,
learning to peel away
the memories that
make me blind
to the science light of the fairies
and the dark love sparks
firing in our brains
and the luminous dreams
of PARADISE NOW
shrouded in my blood and yours.
I want to see all those things!
I want you to see all those things!
+
Today and always
I am fidgeting
finagling
finessing
as I kill off
the dull decayed shock
that blocks me
from finding and speaking
the magic words
that got lost
inside my old misunderstanding
of death.
I don't misunderstand any more!
But it's taking me
longer than I thought
to fix the glitch.
Hard work!
Unwavering effort!
I'm fighting,
exultant and relentless,
to dismantle the buffers
that make me half-deaf
to the hum of the planets
and the thrum of the rivers
and the music of your ripe longing.
.
I am grappling and scrapping
with my self-appointed censors—
LET GO, IDIOTS!—
so I can hear again
the pre-verbal prayers
chanted to me in the crib
by the helpers
with kaleidoscope lyrics
woven in their wings.
I am yearning and pleading
for the animals to teach me
the mysteries of their ordeals and joys
in their own language,
not mine.
+
Now and forever
I am frantic
to disgorge the machine stories
that trick my empathy
into falling asleep
with their fake blood and explosions
with their digitally rendered sobs
and pretend suffering.
Because OF COURSE!!!
I want to sear
the real sobs and suffering,
the true blood and explosions,
into my blasphemous quest
for reverent justice
my rowdy, rumbling quest
for sacred justice
not just for myself
but for all seekers
of the gods' everlasting flux wonder.
