Startled by Existence

Be gentle with my mind

Oh Lord, for I am matter made

And matter born.

“BIG MART” 5/27/02

I was in the spirit on the Lord’s Day;

(Whether in my mind or out of it I can not tell.)

And I heard behind me, a voice

like the sound of many waters

rippin’ through

a tin kazoo …

“WaWa Wa Wa Wawa Woo”

And I saw before my eyes

a big and outstanding marvel:

Where once stood a forest

stood

a monolithic brick:

A city in a single form and dressed

in tincture of elephant and sky with garnish of red,

rising from a plain

of crushed obsidian.

And there before the mammoth wall,

a wetless sea, with tailess whales

circling the plain and searching for a place to rest.

Everywhere the oxidizing baskets

basking in between the whales.

Everywhere the streaming co-eds.

And I beheld two minimalistic-nods to art-deco:

Turrets strung above the gates and sporting signage:

“Always, Always”

hovering above twin falls.

Then, to my delight

the waters split

like a curtain pulled sideward,

and I saw, behind them a courtyard of the coarsest marble.

So I thought: What is the meaning of this crude stone?

Then a voice within my head replied: “This is rock of select-friction

chosen to protect owners of said city against law-suits should the people slip.”

And before I could, a voice outside my head replied:

Welcome to the Hall of Nations

Welcome to The Wood between the Worlds …

Welcome the Land where lives converge.

Welcome, Welcome, Welcome,

come and spend.

And Lo (and High)

I beheld grand and astonishing bedazzlements that no man can mention

save me:

I saw the beautiful bones of walking peasants

and the pleasant pies.

I saw cream of star, arranged in bars and bathing

Game-boys and socks, and a roof

like the state of Kansas -spanning from the east-wind to the west.

I saw visages and vectors

slung like blades: pictures of the smiling Associates

wearing wears.

I saw cattle-cars of goods and goods,

and the floor in between

like a gleaming grid, all wet with dried shellac.

---

The time is Ten O’clock on Sunday night.

Who would have thought to shop right now?

But one of every two hundred students in our big

college town is prancing down the isles

in the mating dance of eyes

and buying files.

One of every 1000 families is buying milk

and hose for his wife

and pencils for his kids.

And one of every me

can hardly take another ounce of pleasure.

--

Then as I skipped

(reeling as I do, in the I-AM of being)

One, like a son of Sam said:

Come, follow me and I will show you what ye seek.

Behold, the splints of

aromatic cedar

griping graphite from Ceylon

and mixed with Mississippi clay …

and sprayed in school-bus golden.

And I lookedat him

as if he were an imbecile… to which he then replied:

“Have you ever read ‘I, Pencil’

you should.”

--

Then were my eyes were opened to

the mystery of commerce

and the many antecedents

swirling on, or about my feet.

Here, the shining vinyl

made of peat bog and wax, and the man who feeds his

face by making it to gleam.

Here, the waiting bubbles like a secret code, hid

in syrup from Nebraska, caged in a can

from Alcoa.

Here, the tropic sun and silt

with caffeine kick, minted in Honduras.

Here the unseen trucks that course by night

to dump the living lobster

and the intricate outbursts

of the Japanese mind.

Here the masses from Malaysia,

China and Taiwan, bent across the polyester oil-fields

and cotton gins,

sowing seams

and clothing me in reams of labor

for an hour of my own.

Here the ground-up pigs on plates of foam,

and German brains, applied

to the beautiful gears.

Here the pulling on the teats of cows,

the purposed rot of milk, ...the graceful eggs.

Here, the chosen fonts

and art campaigns, athletes leaping from the boxes

to sell another flake.

Here (real time): The sons of Adam and the chicks of Eve,

weaving in and out of ears. Goateed men, pretending to like shopping

and the dames, with their gametes tucked inside, ready to

deliver new consumers.

Then did I behold (waiting with me in the chutes)

a multitude of kids, from every nation, tribe, and tongue:

Our baskets brimming in cilantro and the stuff

of every nation, tribe, and tongue;

Our lungs, twined in the air;

and I cried (with delight)

“Could this really be the Arkansas

that opposed integration?”

---

It stands in my mind

like a growing constant: things that are, are fed by many branches,

which in turn are fed by branches which in turn are fed by branches till

the only explanation for what is,

must never start with nothing

but with all.

Consider the power of the HAND,

and the infinite wisdom of the ONE

capable of chasing,

and igniting all loose ends,

then reduce and back away

until….

Wal-Mart rises,

not from any so called “bang”

but from The Big Condense.