Missive To James Baldwin One Week Into Trumplandia - A Dirge Poem by Warren Falcon

'Yes, [artists] have to disturb the peace. Otherwise, chaos.'
-James Baldwin

'And the daylight separated the mad boy from his shadow.'
-Federico Garcia Lorca


Jimmy dear,

Only one week into the new regime.

The crack in the wall behind my head a week old too,
I arrive, there is a cry, and so it begins, continues,
curved spine my head skewered upon is the arc of history
moving toward justice which can't happen soon enough,

however, blue snow, pastel, hard packed, does
not bode well, may slow the burgeon-crack -
Oh the Country, Oh the universe entire.


Last night's dream

The birth of two suns in a theater/laboratory at dirt road's
abrupt end ten miles outside Los Alamos. Brighter they
become, weaker I become, then blind am I, only one flaming
word in the mind's eye, KISMET.

At the only EXIT a one-eyed Mexican viejo stands spinning his barrel
organ, seashell patch over a missing eye, mournfully singing,

Amor. Amor.
Amor Fati.
¿Por qué?
¿Por qué?
¿Por qué te cuelgas del balcón de Dios?
¿Por qué el toro negro en un vestido de novia de pie en
tu ventana de luz de luna cantando canciones de amor?

Rueda Eterna.
Rueda Eterna.
Rueda Eterna cansada.
¿Por qué girar en absoluto cuando
esta es la escena final detrás de
los párpados del sol moribundo?

Pequeñas y preciosas campanas de plata,
preciosas y minúsculas campanas de bronce,
tintineo desde cada cuerno masivo.

Love.
Love.
Amor Fati.
Why?
Why?
Why do you hang from the balcony of God?
Why the black bull in a wedding dress standing
in your moonlight window singing love songs?

Wheel Eternal.
Wheel Eternal.
Weary Eternal Wheel.
Why?
Why?
Why spin at all when
this is the final scene behind
the eyelids of the dying sun?

Precious little bells of silver,
precious tiny bells of bronze,
ring from each massive horn.

**

Here, awake now, feathers, hope, burn to ashes.


**

Jimmy,

brief note,

noted breath,
from White Sands.

In alchemy
white ash/
white dust/
white sand/

is calcinatio,
refining fire
reducing everything
to subtle essence

ash to ashiest/
dust to dustiest/
(I must)/
funk to funkiest/
a kind of Rosary


Dear one

pray that feather ash is more preservative than the feather outright.



Yours in dubium,

Fr. Sebastian Certum