Published by Friar Turk in the blog Friar Turk's Ramblings and Poetry. Views: 66

the spirit passes through different prisms in different ways
sometimes it is a drop of sunlight when the night has been so long and wearisome
that you can hardly remember the day

when the long shadow of your soul awakens to some cold hard truth
that you never thought would come alive to yourself and noone else
and unexpectedly it feels alright that its hard and cold and sharp

and you'll never be able to forget again that the voice of hardness is the sound of truth
and it has always rung truest that way, the hard constant driving truth
that never stops, never quits, never kneels, never is false or falsely humored

allen ginsberg may have despaired once, feeling that he had not despaired enough
looking at the face of the ghetto and the weary nights false
the false chaps, the chapped lips, the ghetto bumps

given over to decay and nonexistent rhyme
with broken, candy teeth, jewish conspiracy
and saturday chicken fried with corn bread and lemonade

perhaps he hadn't read the beat-wax poets on time
or felt falsely primed by their hot hips and cudgeled bums
or he just couldn't get enough before his time
freespiritedone and newbie-one like this.
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