I go through my affairs and I wonder if anyone can truly go through their affairs and as I’m sitting there with what few parcels remain to me and I wonder which way I’ll plunge or fall or maybe sink, whether or not I have any control over the thing, which is under my skin. And what ‘is’ control, and why? Parcel’s memories and shame, inventoried with complex taxonomies and uncertainty like wind captured in a cave.

”It has been found again!

WHAT?

Eternity.

It is the sea mingled with the sun.”

Ah, Evolution-Science-Paxil! Everything is taken from the past. For the body and the soul, – the last sacrament, – we have Medicine and Philosophy, household remedies and folk songs rearranged. And reality television broadband entertainments, and games that kings forbid! Geography, Cosmography, Mechanics, Chemistry!

Science of Moral Rectitude, the new nobility! Progress. The world moves!… And why shouldn’t it?

We have visions of numbers. We are moving toward the Spirit. What I say is oracular and absolutely right. I understand, and since I cannot express myself except in pagan terms, I would rather keep quiet.

Pagan blood returns! The Spirit is at hand, why does Tom Cruise, The Anointed Christ not help me, and grant my soul nobility and freedom. Ah! but the Gospel belongs to the past! The Gospel! The Gospel.

Æolia Revisited.

I

The sunbeams flash through nano-leaves

and illuminates the dusty air,

a magick trick, pulling

a thousand particles out of nothing

and the air is thick with old smoke

and old conversations hang heavy

in sudden solid silence;

II

It was only briefly mentioned

but a few words briefly touching

on eschatology

and the length of these days,

but it was enough to drag

old arguments out like relics

III

Because in the end we’re

just playing Athens and Sparta

and we all just dance this awkward

flitting dance of talk and Grey Goose

windy indolent, passive hatred

and thought and smoke

and the world will end in fire

and we will end in fire

and who but the wisest hermit

the most stunning whore

could tear us away from this mad hunt

and set us to work?

IV

I built a fireplace with old bricks

outside that cave,

a barbeque set deep in the earth

and burnt there,

my unregenerate mind,

meats and rare woods;

alas, that I had not washed

my hands; they were cracked

and red dust turned that holy unction

to mud.