Tag Archives: epiphany

something about an epiphany, or some other thing

lie in wait and go through fifty packs

of cigarettes, shaking one leg in idle seismology

and rattling spare change—

somewhere out there, there’s a beggar

ordering fancy coffee with your name misspelled

on the side of the cup, and the barista

makes sure to spill tiny drops on the counter as she hands it away

just so she has something to distract

herself with, when café rush hour takes over

into infinite passive stretches of replayed cheap hits and blasé

mundanity. perhaps you have the same get-out-of-town

ignition ambition as her, but the

patience is calibrated just a little bit differently; tomorrow

the beggar might steal a millionaire’s wallet

up there around west street and the barista might

finally get her big break

being a famous model for some shady automobile company

but you’d still be here,

making philosiphised fancies and abstract art

with acrid puffs of nicotine smoke

and praying for lung cancer,

composing fanciful jingles with the last three quarters

in your pocket that clash dissonantly against the fifty-third replay

of hey jude in a single godawful morning,

and hoping that perhaps this time,

your stupid name will finally be spelled right

on that beggar’s coffee cup

when you drop a measly dollar on it by his usual spot tomorrow—

oh well, a man can dream, anyway.

you’ll get up. you’ll snuff out the dying glow of your cheap pall mall.

you’ll dust away the ashes on your long-suffering knee.

you’ll drain your glass, shut your whining laptop, and leave a pathetic less-than-20% tip for the missing barista.

and you’ll get up and go.

as soon as your sleeping leg feels better.

okay. fine.

any moment now.

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of another well-developed meaning

forming sentences within my mind


i wonder

if amid all this rapacious confusion

a literary epiphany i’ll be able to find.

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Alice in the Garden

lit epiphanies overlooking

the pale peninsula

in entities of naphthalene

parchments of aria

diaphanous dirndl weave

fading cornflowers

embroidered needlework

strewn cool odours

fingertips brushed lightly

delicate rose petals

ebullient riparian stream

cascade in intervals

mysterious quiet keyholes

revealing a reverie

never has mine fanciful soul

felt such blithe ferly.

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Heaven’s Final Calling

Heaven calls vociferate from above

Desecrating all that you have loved

Beleaguering ire those fainthearted

And their ruthless lions they’ve wed

For their agonies are immeasurable

If only mere mortals were to comply

God, mercy, if only He were still able

Rains down His purloin fates belied

Questioned not their imbued hearts

Played an imbibed lagniappe vitality

Lay down the sword you’d torn apart

Jesters shall feign comedic coronary

Faith’s gone, replaced with hypocrisy

Lusts of wealth and truant infallibility

Hell’s drowned with innocent sinners

Or dernier cri of veins being severed

Epiphany of a gregarious population

Impecunious and rich, in descension

Moratorium of planet in amanuensis

Cognoscenti of exculpated paralysis

Gust of wings, they seek redemption

Death of dogma and nascent nations

Heaven, it calls, yet no longer to invite

But to declare war upon the world it uprights.

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