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When The Gods Were Alive
December 20, 2004



When the gods were alive it was possible

To hover like a cell phone satellite, a tiny

Unborn person hidden in the clouds.

Awaiting the call, link up from a careless thigh

Flung too wide, the sperm racing for home. The link

Down from these gods, who also hung out in your sky

But quite complete, making worlds of volcanoes,

seas and mischief. You, incomplete, made history.


In Boston no gods exist now. All the goofy stories, the Links zapping news of various wars, shootings galore,

War planes and rockets slicing the asses off recalcitrant

Dioses who haven't yet left. And you, and you, my darling? Waiting in heaven for the call?

There's no cabbage, no silver stork, no bulrushes. When you

Are called, AT&T will know before you do, and the announcement

Will be printed and folded at Copy Cop.



Outside my window the street gleaner

Rummages in the trash. Bottles, clothing, shoes with soles.

Nothing is impossible. There are no gods, that's why.

Remember? Before you were born? Only two choices: wait, and get going. Now - Now! Infinite, rag picker, junkie, immigrant with your own new business of things used - infinite, like infinity used to be with possibilities.



In Mexico no-one forgets the ancients. Gods sulk,

angry outlawed rebels on street corners, waiting.

The pope will turn his back, refusing the poor

liberation and family planning.

These disenfranchised gods held magic, magic tricks

palmed in clenched hands, popping open at surprising times.

To hurl hail, dash rain, burst blooms upon each bush. How

lovely. How lovely strode the ancient angry non-existent gods.

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