Geometric Allegory

A MESSAGE (as it appeared, no edits) __________________________________________________________ presence for I am the lord and I speak as the vessel and the instrument in the sinner who I've chosen.  i am the holy ghost and I have touched the man who is chosen to carry the flame. I am the voice that reminds you that for every penny you've proffited, you will pay a thousand times in an eternal debt. i call out the jews and the sages and the alchemists. you are chosen too. for this curse is ours and ours alone, and you are in judgement with the rest.  you, the supposed mother cut from the hand of God who offers trinkets now in this hour of lament, search with your eyes into the despair you have caused and weep bitterly for the harvest that surely is your own.  you jews who profited and made your living off of the word of the father, weap at the place where you have led us. for surely moses will weep for you.  ghosts of the spectre who haunt these realms, marvel in the miracl

Yeast on Passover: To Lynn I've wanted to write this letter to you for a while. I get that you are the ring finger.... You are the ring finger cut from the hand of God. You miss father. You fuck father.... You fuck father finger.... I've seen it And I've heard it And I've carried it with me. You've shown your red solitary circle Aimed and taut, puffed up cherry-plumb. Those familiar wings stem from the sides. And yes, you are the red circle with white wings. Enough time has passed now That I can put my thoughts into words Without trailing off into nonsensical obscenities: And here they are, These collection of thoughts Formed into vowels and consonants Coded, shaped, and aimed at you.  Here goes.... You're a nasty, terrible woman. I mean that.... Sincerely. It feels good say, Though it shames me, too.... I'm 44 years old now, So I'm no child, But still it feels good for me to call you out Just like a ch

At the Bottom of 13 I live out here in the deep frozen space.    Here, I'm all Alone,  and I live in my rocket ship.  I'd count all the stars and give them each names, But without any windows, there's nothing to count Except what's erased From my memory. To further the metaphor, I'll say this: I am now like the desecrated grave of Shakespeare. With the head removed from the torso, The disturbed dust becomes our shared curse. Before I forget, I'll tell you my whole story before it folds. After the fold, I will flip and forget all of this. The river Lethe is said to erase all Like the Big Bang did so long ago. Everything that had existed fused together In the cosmic crucible And then spat out with a bang Carrying a blue-print of the forever design.            The flip will erase you.  It will erase me, too. So while I still can, I will tell you all: It's no joke when I say I live in space.