Who-Is-The-Doom Poem by Patti Masterman

I see that brick wall you’ve pointed me toward again,
A thousand times now, my brother;
Both with words and without,
In concealing codes and sly gestures.
I will just pretend to be walking there now,
And will circle that wall for a thousand years;
Even though my body fall down, my spirit
Will continue on in circles;
Even though my spirit finally wear itself through,
Like worn out house shoes,
My energy will continue to spiral, magnetized with momentum.

In my constant walking, my abiding presence
Will eventually become a bounding curse
Upon you and all your petty generalizations,
And I will ambulate the circumference of your limited minds;
Your little crime-seeking, self-satisfying standards.
My round bastions will deflect every intended wound of yours,
In dizziness you will behold my travelling orbits
And you will say that the I-that-is; that-something; that-somewhere
Has finally gone completely over the edge
Of sanity- but viewed from the other side,
I will still be standing strong and upright: unmoving even.

It’s not which side you’re on; it’s which can endure,
And your time will someday have to polish it’s bloodied hands
On my petrified reflection,
And your farcical mystery religions will crack and fall over,
Under the propellant power of self-doom.

I’m going to start walking now.