Alchemy at Daybreak

Wake up craving terror and Buckminster Fuller  is there on a trapeze and rapture as majestic as torture was  yesterday,  as   yearning   as    one   love    one  lo  ove    Marley  singing  while his skin   betrays him   his sun betrays,  his many women stay, which is betrayal  for what he is capable  of  is too obscenely  just   to be human or imminent      two  pieces of one :     what of it   he mutters like an apparition     disappears walking and clapping  into the spotlight's past black gimmick glowing with absence and merchandise.   He was practically sauntering   whisking the spell into song  and some sublime  apathy        as the searing  fix of babble  becomes the one  valve  of clarity  do   we  fear  ourselves becoming  whole.   If only we  were all a little crazier  more soul    just to enough to say what we aren't thinking    how lonely it is to overcome  ourselves   and the choreographed oppression    mellower   and more comfortable  some days    I'm tired  of the resin   in every great black preacher's voice,  the perfect  sanctimony  of manhood is better    pimps   are better   than holy men     at convincing    me  of anything   worth risking the illusion of duality  against     but you'd be surprised  how many of them  pump  the resin   at  daybreak