We are they – no other but us
The ugliest dispensation is rioting fantasies
Burning within a decrepit landscape. Power
That is this world’s origins as its wound.
Rawness will remain when the dream is done.
That and origin’s jewelled head. Our ritual.
All accusatory appraisal a stare at our heart.
Uneasily its business inside us a knotted
wound.
We are poets, we are people, we act especially
drunk
Within excess, collective actuality not
utopian now.
Decrepit sky, casual language, all just
memory anywhere.
At the chapel then things opened a luminous
wound
Inside our meat. Imbibe it like a pie. The
poets
Could be a major utopian fantasy – their
sober stare
Engaged inside our dreams. How really could
we rename this?
In these decrepit times what we are jewelled
wounds
Writing our language as a scary mask.
We have no other anywhere. This
dispensation’s strict acceptance
Will remain. It’s difficult but it is
collective. The sun
Will remain. Memory will remain, especially when
a wound.
Title: chapter heading from Charles H Welch, The Reconciliation of All Things (The Berean Publishing Trust, 2001). See Genesis 15, especially v 16; “for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet full”; “Returning to the Amorites, you will remember that with them, as with the remainder of the Canaanites, nothing less than utter extermination was ordained of God” (Welch, p 11). They, we, are those predestined not to be saved.
ReplyDelete