" VISIONS OF THE SUBTERRANEAN IN THIS RUN - DOWN ROOMING - HOUSE OF THE SOUL " AS RIPPED FROM " TALES OF CAFE APOLLINAIRE "

" VISIONS OF THE SUBTERRANEAN IN THIS RUN - DOWN ROOMING - HOUSE OF THE SOUL " AS RIPPED FROM " TALES OF CAFE APOLLINAIRE "


PAINTING " MEISTER VOM HIMMEL " BY MICHAEL SOWA
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PAINTING " MAN WITH WASP " BY MICHAEL SOWA
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PAINTING " HUMMINGBIRD MAN " BY MICHAEL SOWA
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PAINTING " FLOCK OF PIGS " BY MICHAEL SOWA
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Anyway here are the last sections of the poem " Visions of the Subterranean in this Run-Down Rooming-House of the Soul " ripped from the long poem " Tales of Cafe Apollinaire ".

III

The Subterranean daily lines up
with the other outcasts
at the little soup-kitchen next door
for his & their only meal of the day
on the street the rush-hour traffic
bumper-to-bumper slowed to a crawl
of those passing through
cursing swearing banging their steering-wheels
fearing their time being wasted
& their time is money returning
to sterile suburbia their eyes focused
straight ahead rendering these outcasts
invisible having found success
coming from working in their Glittering
Towers of Glass in the City's Centre
which nightly they abandon in this run-down
rooming-house of the soul-

The Subterranean in this run-down
rooming-house of the soul over-shadowed
in the long autumnal shadows
of the tall Glittering Towers of Glass
visions revealed of the mind
a lotus flower blossoming
lifting the burden off the soul
ripping away the razor-wire coiled
around our hearts left dreaming love
believing in essence we are more
than these bodies we inhabit
being prismatic streams of light
in this run-down rooming house
of the soul-

IV

Visions in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul revealing numerous
entangled intertwined roots
the more we dig uncovering
veins of gold in the root-cellar
beneath this run-down rooming-house
of the soul-once you had a plan your
life laid out for you from A to Z
from beginning to end
wondering if it is your life
you are leading Walking crawling
on broken glass & egg shells
in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul where nocturnal creatures
give free advice & counseling
unraveling threads of images
bombarding us in ambushes
of a down-pour of disconnected
images & word-filled winds rushing
all about us against our faces
stinging us chilling us to the bone
passing through us trapped inside
our muddled chaotic bric-a-brac stuffed
jumble-jar in this run-down rooming-house
of lost & forgotten souls-

How is it that so many claim to find
meaning insisting on purpose in this dreary
run-down rooming-house of the soul
where giant leopard slugs
lurk in the shadows performing
secret ancient rituals in the bushes
just outside under our windows
sacrificing dogs & cats
dragged into the shadows
their terror too much for us
in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul -

V

The Subterranean having visions
of the Valley of slaughter
where human carcasses are tossed
where the Vultures of Heaven feed
where the living envy the dead
where we feed off Wormwood
where we drink the waters of Gall
where our faces have become flames
where flames give birth to faces
in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul-

That all for now,
GORD.