Archive
08/30/11
Tua vita nuova
If only you'd known, realized, surmised, inferred, Smelled a fat cat's rat, suspected something was rotten in Rotterdam, That all was not well that began not well, at your botched breach birth,
You very well might have crawled back up, inside your shell's shelter, And hid from the vicissitudes of the hissy fit That destiny, fate, kismet, beshert had caused your spirit to shoulder,
Simply by not allowing your soul to be reseeded in a new body, Beaker, test tube, Erlenmeyer flask, for incubating, gestating your ka, Prepping it for the hallowed promises of the next world.
But you failed to get the proper read, bead, take, fix, handle on reality, Missed the mark, the bull's-eye, the dark heart of the existential matter Not only by a country mile but by ten as-yet-unformed galaxies.
Indeed, you believed, with the faith of a Christ Jesus, in your bright heart, That tua vita nuova would be the best one yet, The first to put to rest your quest for life eternal, immortal, ad infinitum.
Only, a mere seventy years into your ostensibly splendid enterprise, You knew, realized, surmised, inferred that life, purely and simply, sucked, Bit the big one's fore and hind tits, couldn't begin to fill death's zapatos.
And by that time, what you'd also learned, by crooked hook, hooked crook, Was that it was too God-damned late to say no, go back home, And that you'd just have to bite the big one's bullet-teats, stick it out,
Continue on predestination's wayward-deviation course, toward nowhere, Accept your come-what-may fate as your fait accompli, Eat unprobated Jim Crow bait, as though the only thing separating you
From your elected destiny was unfathomable death itself, down and dirty, An out-of-earthly-body experience deep-sixed six feet deep, Beneath the twin hemispheres of your inexorably desiccating cerebral cortex.
Then, without omniscience's, insight's, prescience's future warnings, Your limitless, ageless soul simply quit its spirit's mission, Left you hanging from a crucifix, in the crypt of time's gray-matter cathedral,
Until your putrid innards oozed into the swirl of history's brown effluents, Saving you from having to decide, once and for all's forever-after all, Whether to continue living or slip into the next incarnation stillborn.
08/30/11
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