Smoke from a Golden Calf

  • Voice Only

  • Music Only


Smoke from a Golden Calf

Uhm. Uhm. Every uncertainty. 
Uhm. Oh. It is this stepping off 
from birth into uncertainty and certainty. 
We know the moments of our wealth and 
undivine poverty, those strokes 
from the whip of a god 
that would not be a Golden Calf, 
a steak on the grill of golden smoke 
curling higher into the beckoning stars. 

That infinity of paperwork which brings us 
from end to end, from open eyes 
reading between the lines 
of a birth certificate. 
Mommy and daddy 
reel you in on the fish hooks of their passion, 
their boredom, their means of communication. 
Severed from the umbilical and cast 
into chance, into, 
putting on the best face, 
opportunity, that disguise for good living. 
Mud hut, palace, tract house, apartment, 
pent house, prison, cardboard box, log cabin. 
That shell game for bodies, 
for substance of flesh. 
Stereo system. Rheostat. Garbage disposal. 
Electricity. Candle light. Kerosene. 
Moon strong, full, so bright. 

The different spinning of the planets. 
On this one we have not yet wiped 
the war paint from our faces. 
We still bleed for nothing or everything, 
balancing ignorance and understanding 
like jugglers standing in the middle 
of piles of broken dishes, 
spent ammunition, the threat of annihilation. 
One of seven billion, all contained 
in a blink of humanity, 
a single eye looking into space 
and in the totality of which we recognize 
a fraction.