Treasure Island

Ray Quesada

(08-08-1986)

The Loft of Time - Part 2 (Truth Medusa)


God Master Time – hovering
Over suicidal building jumpers
Over drug dealers, serious
and ready to shake hands
or sell, or kill

The soft loft and severity
of mortality looms over
Our monuments – over Buddha,
Christ
and the Lady of Liberty alike–

(She is stoic if you look…)

But look closer
and she is hiding her sadness,
The way most women
hide sadness and disappointment from
Husband Men and grown Sons
who forget the trees they climbed
in Sacred innocence,
in priceless Childhood,
under Red Setting Suns- -

-who've forgotten
cops and robbers and cap guns
- who smoke cigars
and wear business suits
And who themselves
are secretly solemn in their souls
even if they don't consciously know

Time seems to be the boss around here
It's eating the shores, the mouth of Time
-Smashing the rocks trying to tell us
'I am Evil, and I will get you, but
At least put up a fight! ! ! '
And it smiles
as it allows a car to kill a child
And on occasion it reminds us
That it is a double-edged sword
-that very miraculous things also take place
within it's Universal Breath
Holy Flowers are born to die
But, are precious
in their flimsy, frail
mortality

All Biblical things are happening
And all things with that weight
Must be written apocolyptically
and prophetically

- And if you feel these things;
If you see these monsters...
The power of Ginsberg's Moloch
-Of the bible's Moloch-
The powerful,
demonic black and foreboding
teeth glaring
and dripping with blood...
Hungry
and chasing after
a world of childish souls
to swallow up whole-

Then
Scream the prophecy in your own
blood if you have to
or in ink or spray paint
On bathroom stalls
And on alley walls
where drunk dummies
Will read, and they will have to listen
and wonder silently
They will have to face
their inner God
Inner anger, and inner child
They can't argue with a cold dank brick
And they can try to argue with themselves
But the Truth, if painted properly
Is a Reverse Medusa
That can turn a heart of stone
Back into pumping red,
Thoughtful, loving flesh.
– 1: 00-2: 12 a.m., January 23rd,2012 -

Submitted: Thursday, April 04, 2013
Edited: Friday, October 11, 2013

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  • Diane Hine (4/6/2013 3:17:00 AM)

    Not wishing to encourage graffitists, but there's no denying that the last 5 lines of this poem are sensational! (Report) Reply

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