A SECRET CHOIR

truth, the way, the word,

zen, god, do, happening,

the it

hit in the inside,

outsider,

hipper than elephant shit

snot-slicker than William S. Burroughs

propelling the future

to sleep on the lull of his voice

while wearing the ghost proudly,

swords on Hell-burned coals...

satan no ken;

let's finally run the two-thirds through!

...

impossible victory, realized,

impossible coup, attained,

dead lights on heaven's floor

drip down, cavernous down, free down

toward eternity pits and darkness visible,

birthed on war-room oaths and tormented battle plans

and ambitious designs with upward intentions,

where venomous prayer tongues

show

in wings and fangs

and horns

and dressed for stiff ceremonies

of difficult laughter,

creeping along

easy sorrows

belly-deep in blood.

...

pull off the secret masks

and bare thy faces for worldly eyes;

here the curtains caught

moth-holed flames

and lit the dark and blotted moon

under veils of smoldering triumph,

ashamed and hidden

in the guise of ashes defrocked.

...

salute the reign,

o ephemeral peace,

like lightning to the sky,

it rends and burns itself out again;

assassins move to unknown choirs

and sound out the random chorus repititions,

louder,

clearer,

it begins with you.

-- Ken Gage (1969-2070)

14 February 2002.