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Of Our Cranial Love for the Lion

Had a great Lucipo meeting yesterday with Evie Shockley, Tony Tost, and Ken Rumble.

The discussions helped me replay with my poem that plays with the Second Coming.

I want many second comings. I am not satisfied with one Apocalypse.

Here's the rough work/rough beast:

Of Our Cranial Love for the Lion

Suffice it to say
religion stinks
and we were tired elephants
so we headed toward Bethlehem looking for new
streaks across the sky.

We were heading toward Bethlehem with wet blankets
and a mop.
We were looking for new insurrections of
unto you.

But really we were heading toward Bethlehem
because we did not want the skin of the farmer
because we left doctor Sunday on the side of the road with a briefcase full
of dead facts.

We were heading toward Bethlehem as part of a seminar
on special problems for honest mystics.

We were heading toward Bethlehem with old texts.
The old texts pointed toward Bethlehem.

Suffice it to say
we were heading toward Bethlehem and our innocence drowned
suffice it to say
we were heading toward Bethlehem and we fell apart
suffice it to say
we loved the rocking the rattle the face the goo goo ga ga the wet beast moment come round.

We were heading without map
slouching and sloughing
toward.

We were sludging through
old texts toward Bethlehem
with insurrections in mind
come round heading
to say
in love with the lion.

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Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
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