Page 58
By Jack Joseph Smith
A POEM TO A PAINTER
BEFORE:
When I went to the calling that was the magic of this
horror show I saw minds winding through darkest parts
of the eternal currents into down below trailing upon
twisted memories I went so slow on the screaming edge
of my hanging lungs at the final moment when the last
reded eye went into me and I caught a life in time to
say I saw through men over knowledge as timeless with
wisdom as an untouched tree after they had captured a
brain and on scalpel sharp surgical stone cut it raw.
IT ALL:
When I see water rolling white in the night within
winding grays I think of the day that sank away to
feelings going on the flow of men's sounds carried
alas on the stillness in time to where there would
have been other men as Will could have gone beyond
toward turning teacher into brother but thought of
all the gravestones along the way and could I walk
there pretending I never witnessed deep dread face
of the spirit or what would I write after again to
again the wine went dripping from my mouth walking
from doors of closing taverns with tears running a
down my lines like fading colors of a worn out hobo's tie?
HAPPENED:
Men among lost men blessing man's soul in the wild
of the black alley the world has yet to tally your
understanding and consecrate lone agony in wreaths
false wrapped round the tombs they place above you
yet with art I deepen my own still passing beneath
strength knowing movement gives not good leave with reply.