Useless Incantation Poem by John Zeller

Its the breeze that turns my sweat to salt-sickles
as the burning sun reaches yet another epoch lost
I alone self combust ignited by fury
pushed further on, fueled by the winds cost
into the deep molting chasm's of my lysergic soul
seeking beauty and words, flaming lost verses
I utter Cajun incantation to and fro
echoing rituals of French Quarter curses


When all four winds come and scatter
my ashes to living hells four corners
shall not a verse or poem or song fall
on the ears of lost pathetic mourners
celebrate the rebirth of the eternal spirit
dwell not on my suffering that never mattered
always shall be evil in beauty, love in hate
pleasure in pain, loss in gain, death in life
all quite trivial to the latter