the deep silent ones...
out of bounds of his
most vicious handlers,
be they men or demons,
...known only to you
God and inspired by
your Holy Spirit.
for green lacewings float
up like silent prayers
only to be devoured,
mid-flight, by
ravenous dragonflies.
Gary Edward Geraci
What’s this, new language?
“An emotional affair...”
You are joking right?
Gary Edward Geraci
Tongues are a special anatomical invention
venting and will-work-wagging with varying convention.
Cute, creep-crawl creatures slurp slick-soft slugs and shoot
sticky, slop-mass-mounds of evolved flesh: pounce, reboot,
repeat, then lick. Look, the sublingual solitude
of a berry sized seed buried and
booed
for being so bothersome to the lingual
advantages
of being rational and speaking several languages;
bilingual; slow, but with strong accents and sloppy bursts
of, oh yes, ‘yeast-yawn’ palatals, well rehearsed
but, well, with sub-par pronunciation. The tongue’s
highest use, I think then, is as throne: the Son’s
place of respite leaving one tongue-tied with Majesty.
No wonder it’s so wonderful but wandering south can be a travesty,
just west of wicked minded inclination,
puffed and gassy, it is “Glossitis,” the glossy, grassy nation
where sometimes tongues don’t work so well and messy faces
and fingers result and things are said that spoil spaces.
A beloved creature, the tongue is drawing immense
pleasure in the eyes and heart of Coherence,
a beaming and affectionate Countenance,
the fruit of his satisfaction and love for tongue parlance,
of which his Son took one when he became Man,
learning to lip with lap, love and chat with twelve chosen kinsmen.
Gary Edward Geraci
A kind of deficiency in my kind to be kind,
cravenness has bred cruelty, contempt of self the moldings of a misanthrope
and brutal loathing, lonesomeness - the liquidation of every liberty with impunity.
For we slapped each other’s backs,
congratulatory because we were all born under the dogma but now are no longer slaves, emancipated, no longer on parole, but unified in our discontent for fugitive pleasures, the rights to be free we have so dreadfully fought for. So what can you promise me with any lasting substance or depth oh fleeting liberty? The finality of an act with no encore.
Gary Edward Geraci
