The Lone Race".

Here are the poets.
We are the last of our kind

We are the child said unfit to feed

We are the like the buffalo
the dying breed

The brethren of Judah who bargains eternal

We are of sinners and swindlers
the lone temple hustlers

The last to arrive to God's soiree
feasting wildly on Judgement day

sneaking pearls and goldware from the table and floor
late to leave the last Supper and hungry for more

Weare the race of the idlers and voyageurs and hilltop mountainside lingerers
We are the race that rich with bags of gold brought whores to mass

Set fires to old ways as an iconoclast

Who looked to the heavens dismissing all constructs and declared
"The moon is my lover, the stars are my sisters, the rings of Saturn my children
and the planets are madame's and misters"

We are the exhibitionists and vagabonds, who will not be remembered
We are the two lords who meet in secret amid the tower, the girl who leaves a rose on the corpse of her lover

We are saints and are sinners, we are demons and darlings
We are the race that laughed under torture
We are the slave that pleasured the wife of the master

 

 

We are the successful impostor
We are the bruised child who flees the hands of his father and
ministry and finds all the wisdom of the universe in the shade of a field

We are the stowaways and and secret keepers
the stargazers and tarot readers.

Tossing old ways we magnify the kaleidoscope of the divine
We are your neighbor and sister and brother and foe
containing the wisdom of worlds above and below

Both human and scoundrel with stars in our face
hear us now for we are the poets
-the last of our race.