MAESTRO

I

Time passes, collecting speed
With the topspin of God
Then skates off the edge of space
Like a ping-pong ball.

‘Did he?, I mean ‘it’ mean to do that?’
Can we call God an ‘it.’
Some do but I rather
Would not.

The great mystery is playing the odds–
From down below and above,
At the same time,
Because—two places

At once, the great mystery is odd
And (Hell) invented it all.
And sometimes likes to boogie
In a dive bar, shifting the shape

Of itself, itself.

II

It’s like a sentence that runs on and on,
Changing subject, growing a beard
To cover his vagina, her balls—
Keeping pace with Forest Gump,

Its marathon for marathon’s sake
Across 50 shades of grey, of Amerika.

III

That’s what we paved
Over the land of the free,
The home of the slave,
50 shades of Iraq

50 shades of concrete-camouflage.

IV

The greyhound gallops
With the wheels of the bus
And the bogeyman
Opens its Siamese doors.

To pick you up.
To drop you off–
By the one weight
Of Maat’s scales,

The holy lake of the crocodile.