The Be-Coming of NewMedia

Envisioning ArtForms for Be-Coming Ages;

                                                  A WAKENING

I arose

With the first streaks of dawn

Trumpets resounded—From all the




Father—Came to awaken me

Followed by a regiment of violinists

Oh music—What a wonder

Ah—My awakening

Which is celebrated—By

That regiment of trumpeters

Who came in the morning

These instruments—That are of The Lord

What great mornings

What stupendous awakenings

Then—As if they were my teachers


Came running to me—And

All naked

They taught to me

Of philosophy

Then—Carrying only their little pink bath gear


How they caressed

My sacred body

A holy purification

Invading all my necessary orifices

Using their pink—Purifying impedimenta

What a memory I have

I remember it all as if it were—Yesterday


                                                   THE SENTENCING

Like a ship with billowing sails
That stops at all ports along its route
My grief—Will know
All the degrees of Martyrdom
Sentence me

I know I am guilty—I know I deserve it
I do not want—To live
Another day
Of my botched-up life

I believe
I would have been happy
In an aquarium—Sitting on a chair
Surrounded by
And—The little girls
Would have—Come
And visited me
Every Sunday

Tell me once and for all
That you have condemned me
Look here—I am your—Phoenix
Climb on my back
And I will carry you
To the paradise of—Obscure Enlightenment

I would like you
To kill me
With a hammer
Blow to my head

Death is not a game—Like all the others
It is irrevocable
I demand this of you—As my punishment
I want—Well—I want you
To eat me
I will in all finality
Of you—And—Of me