heliotropic ancestors of the Shopping Mall,
eyes chasing fool's gold into coal mines ripe with plutonium caskets
dwell
like paisley eyed Gypsies moving slowly through a Suburban
food court, the Oasis of Stasis
has every eye racing with the wetness of the forbidden silence
the color of
lipstick across Salome's mouth
as She writes the Magic Words on the Chalkboard of the Starry Wisdom,
bringing Civilization into the Temple of Existential Despair,
when at a strange moment the face of the Sphinx
suddenly ignites in the Consciousness whirring in the Asylum of Protons
every eye opens and closes around the something that
is not even there, an empty silent silence silhouetted in a still point
that somehow never remains,
until the last moment when the last Possible Thought
exits Stage Left, pursued by the Ghosts that sleep in your Hair.
And in this Question,
the Angels exhale
conversations between God and the God of the Godless Gods,
into the space/time continuum,
a dark soil rich with the mystery of
unanswered prayers.
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