Heretic Journey

Would it confuse you if I explained
that it’s but a matter of sense that
so vitally alchemizes me Other?

That aside the tedious cacophony
of car horns and brakes screeching,
cell phones and dogs barking
are other hums entwined,
discordances of darkness,
ballads of emotions sung,
whispers of deeds proffered,
to the few attentive ears.

That amidst the lines of cars,
steeples of neighborhood shrines,
pacing pedestrians and blighting malls,
there cavort reflections and images,
flows of power and streams of glow,
resplendent auras and dancing memoirs,
shadows and rendered dweomer
unnoted but through selective vision.

That overpowering bitter rich sweets
of the ice creams and steaks,
cappuccinos, micro brews, and mints,
are steely and sanguine flavors,
subtle warnings and pleasures,
bland desires and sugared dreams
sampled by refined tongues
ethereally muscled and budded.

That beneath the comforting embraces,
ugly bruising, arousing fondles and kisses,
are an overwhelming warmth of
spirit-meshed-spirit coursing
to ecstatic coupling burn,
the ripple pinprick frost of
the restless dead strolling near,
the heart-panic-halt
of Darkness invading Light,
and the fire burgeoning solace
of Light in loving rescue
rubbed stabbed caressed
upon the sensitive marrow, pores
of those with unchained flesh.

That suffused within garbage and flora,
gasoline and barbecue grill are
the acrid fumes of untamed wraith,
the tea rose linger of a
lover's passing thought,
the pyre smoke of evil hunts
both conveniently forgotten and
wished for passionately by
monsters yet to come,
all noted by the foreign
olfaction of the too scarce
dwellers in a twilight place.

I see by the confusion, fear
in your failed mimicry of vision
that what I posit is too alien
for comprehension or acceptance.
Alas, I shall pass quickly onward,
heretic tourist in a repressed realm,
where facsimile of perception
has usurped God’s own senses.