Bottomless Well

The Rosetta Stone

A fishing pole
The line
connecting point "A" to point "B"
A boy broke the code
and I touched the Rosetta
Late one afternoon
In the British Museum
I extend into the depth
I search for phantoms
I hunt nightmares
With an unloaded gun
I am at the mercy
Of the Righteous
Who talk to God
over a beer and peanut brittle
They care not a wit
For the singular plurality
That comes with True Love
Is it all Theater of the Absurd?
The sum was once greater
Than our parts
But breasts, pussy and a full mouth,
Rearranged, courtesy of Picasso,
Trumped solving for Pi
At least this go around
And the kaleidoscope
Now makes me nauseous
Longing for loam and worms
and last autumn's decay.

Falling remains constant
It is the only truth
To be unraveled
In the shadowlands
And I feel a cold breeze
In this Verne-ian space
Unknown to cartographer
And Zen monk alike
My begging bowl lays empty
All I possess now
Is the memory
Of the pleasure felt
Of the pain endured
These are real
And I claim them
I will testify
Bring out your Bible
I show you the passage
In Joshua, it is always
Those shards of pottery
Even the Cursed
Arrive in Hell
Eventually . . .

I learned a secret
I no longer fear
So simple
Only faith
Is needed
Just the belief
Or perhaps,
it was something else,
Perhaps I already knew
the answer to the question
Perhaps I cheated.
I tested it once
In a dream
as I fell fell fell
At long last discovering
Myself safely
At the bottom
Looking upwards
At the open window
Far above.


The trick, you see,
Is knowing deep down
it's not real.