Monday, January 13, 2014

After All, You Gotta Ask

"Since the passages are poetry, one must ask at this point, where are the pauses and accents that mark the rhythm in such text?"

"Yes. I have come to Zion often. But only since the Millenium."

In those far-off days,
In those far-off nights,
In those far-off years,

The gods were already gods,
The gods were already debating,
The debating already recorded,

The metaphors already distance,
The distances already blurred,
The blurring already conflated

With ghosts and justice,
Those grimacing twin posts of all gates
To every gated community's Netherworld.

Well. We could still keep this simple.
It was before we have a story for it
That this story really happened.

There was a server, named Cassidy,
A good Mormon boy working
Hard for the National Park Service,

Somewhere in the Netherworld
Of Zion Lodge, handing out menus,
Explaining the spirited laws of Utah.

"No spirits without food, sir. Here
We feed our hungry ghosts
Before we risk any livers.

No sir, I'm sorry. Animal sacrifice will not
Be necessary nor suffice. I misspoke.
You have to have salsa and chips with your beer."

At this point, the distinction
Between points, pints, and laws
Gets confusing. "You can eat

A sandwich on this wintry day
That you brought in your backpack,
But that will not pay taxes

Like the purchase of an appetizer,
And therefore I can't serve your beer."
Poor Cassidy, I overheard him

Explaining this to a European.
Poor Cassidy! Two-thirds LDS
But one-third Scandinavian!

Cassidy! If even one of mankind
Burst the trick of rules asunder,
Sending all the One Gods under,

The game, as a game, of being
A beast believing a beast
Can be a player, a game maker,

Goes game over. Now look here,
Cassidy Jacobsen, we can let you
Rule, on condition of surrender,

Forever as king of the shades,
Chief of this Netherworld. Allowances
Can be made. But no beer

For that Frenchman, hairy-armed,
Under-perfumed, fresh from that wild
You got him from, here.

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