by Charles Carreon
If the beginning of the earth
were to happen again today,
I would serve you well.
Time drags at our feet,
and the millenial roll of the stars
Lays a stilling hand upon our thoughts;
Our eyes do not always recognize each other.
Later, in a moment of remembrance,
We will find ourselves, too late.
I bust loose in this world,
without a watch to tell me time
I drift. My eyes bleed,
they bleed straight from the heart.
I bury my knife to the hilt in concrete.
I look at you -- your deal --
you deal me the Ace of clubs.
I give you swords,
You offer me cups.
I wander all the streets at night to fill you up.
There is no dealer.
I break at the moment of violence,
I laugh at the instant of joy,
I bring you the fruits of the earth
in the hour of labor when the sun goes
down amid the cried of babes
surrendering at the breast.
This is my testament --
All that I have gathered in my sinful hands.
For you, my Goddess, have I sinned,
and conquered heathen lands.