World Peace Held

Treading The Fire

maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge
a mantra to be ruminated over
like a submerged leek
becoming tender in warm water
as it seems to me
all as vanished
from our worlds
galaxies
and
cliques
much poetry has propelled
into the bellowing mushroom cloud
of noxious gas
Earth has garnished her seedlings
as the trees convulse in 4/5 time
leading scholars to compendious shame
shaking with violence muttering
intellectual gibberish
to the delight of the spittle
forced out with the saying of it
but what about me
the reporter
the documenter of my purview
what do I make of anything now
I say to myself in this pallid skin
in these pallid days
perhaps I should go tell it on the mountain
given the effulgence of effort
not merely in mind
but of the being
directing my reticent walk
out of a crawling crowd