Hermeneutics

Time is a tautology
made of moving parts.
Space is a syllogism,
the room for thoughts to play.

Did they ever tell you
otherwise? Did you hear
there was no law for
transients like us?

You climbed up Mount
Moriah and told the
winds you flew. But
where were you when

the foundations were laid
and the sons of God rejoiced?

Reverie

We never made any music
said the man in blue
and shook his curly head

I never wanted any of it-
the stupid pins and
those magnets on the busted fridge

The sun came up again this morning
but you weren't there to see it
I think you were flying home again

We told her the door was locked but she
didn't want to hear it
She had places to be

There's no such thing
he told the girl in the yellow dress
but she only smiled wider

Nachfolge

In one hand, tongues of fire,
and in the other a knife of
bronze, and at your side, your
son, Isaac, the child of the
promise. Your aged fingers have
no feeling, your wrinkled feet
drag and drag. You have named
him, in your heart, the lamb
of slaughter and the price of
God. The seed of your flesh,
the heir of the covenant, the
pledge of the Almighty- and
will he die? Do you dream
that God might turn aside, relent?
Know that God is not like man,
will not change, will not turn.
This you know in your soul and
cannot doubt. Isaac, the son of
laughter, will die this day.
Behold, the fire and the knife.

Der Geist Der Zeit

Time from time redeeming time,
if such a thing can be,
and all the wasted minutes
come and- prodigals- knock at
the peeling door. If time
from time redeems the time,
might it not come for me?
With a soft and wearied
voice start proffering my
name? If time and time
could redeem the time...

The world runs thus away.

Mit Warmem Blut (Von Goethe)

If Yahweh does not build
the house, all our building
is in vain, is in vain.

All my moral indignation,
prophetic cries, and sweeping
vision-- All your plans
for revolution, your dreams of
justice and return-- All
the songs of true and false,
good and evil, right and
wrong-- What to me? Not
a thing. A quintessence of
dust. If Yahweh does not
build the house

If Yahweh does not build--
set his heart to it, gather
to himself his spirit--
If Yahweh does not build

and his breath, all flesh
will perish-- if Yahweh
does not build

if Yahweh does not
Does not

Build

Sing the Body Mechanical

I sit and wave hello while
the parade goes on ahead:

Go by, go by, you lords
and ladies, you lovers
and linchpins, go by

Go by in green and
silver, go by, go by.

Go by, you singers at
the sudden strife, go
by, go by to the
lighthouse and the gate
at King's, to the
causeways, and the
Schwarzwald and
Salzkammergut, go
by, go by while the
sun still shines and
the earth still turns.

Sing hallelujahs with
your bodies; dance
dances with your minds.

"It's Winter," Says

One of the old Olympians holding
the winds in a bag. "Like hell!"
screams the grass, and is promptly
crushed. Tumble down, December,
tumble out, 'til my feet crunch
and my eyes go bleary blue.

Outside, all is frosted earth and
snap-dried leaves in red and gold.
I wonder if the plants have a
doctrine of the resurrection of the
flesh, or is it more like the
Wheel of Samsara?

Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh,
but today I don't see it, and
the sun is white and far away.