Ballad of Poor H.M.
I, poor H.M.
brought to the city
from my mother's belly
from the warm forests long ago
It has been cold since I was dropped
the cold of hatred / loveless war
My mother lifted me to see a sage
She herself had seen as a girl before
I remember crowds: something pressing
like my mother's belly Everything followed
from that pressure
The world was mad from fire and war
A nation was a house divided
against itself which found its echo
in the flats of workers where mother moved
to escape her mother-in-law
Love went sour as never before
I, poor H.M.
brought to the city
from my mother's belly
-- a cause of war
It rained blows on my head
when I discovered the warm sweet root
of a girl-like flower
viscous smelly delicious
something... fish but far more
than foul
Crippled confined imprisoned beaten
In a latrine, hours
for Adam's sin
the crime of curiosity
asking questions/finding answers --
boy/girl, male/female, vagina/finger of a lad of 5....
The whole thing went under
Middleton was right on education
It only means being beaten as animals
Then the changeling emerged
Light luminous being from a pupa
In white: fair, cleaned
the aura of an angel
who had to discover again at 14
the secret of world-pain
The prison of H.M.
was no longer his mother's belly
but her death and the world
that beckoned him
Her forest was long since sold
A city built by two
divided in two by these very two
Bania and Maratha / father and mother
The last western basion raped by Candeth
Precious China closet crashed
Who'd believe him if he said
There aren't two but six sexes
I, poor H.M.
brought from my mother's belly
always opted for the poorest
Games are infinte
The labyrinth, infinte
Human time, finite
SET ME FREE
-- a cry at the barricades
Shot photoflashed recorded
Filed for protesting by the FBI
A frozen scream
of an alien without rights
-- What is the fight?
The world is the stuff of dreams
of martyrs and madmen
Palestine
Ahvaz
Iran burned
Go to the burning ghettos
With kerosene and water
Pour alternately over the fires
to lengthen the funereal drama to the pyre
I, poor H.M.
burning, burning
Burnt to cinder
Come back home with a begging bowl?
Marx was wrong
And so was Christ
Pity and humility
In the right proportion
Make a heady potion
Passing for Buddhism:
Buddha was a bum
Who got it right
What's all the screaming
What's all the fun
You're only dreaming
Why stain the sun
With your tears and your personal barbecue?
Why run from belly to prison
from prison into the sun
from the sun into the fire
from the fire into eternity
Eternity is as solid as your ass
And you can ride it to the Bo-tree
in Benares
"To trust in the Heart is Not-Two
Not-Two to trust in the Heart":
that's our inheritance
the lumpsum....
Poor H.M. dropped
from his mother's belly
Now parsing poems
till kingdom come.
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