as if
13/11/03

as if a thousand Avatars of Brahma waited dreaming
deep inside of us
as if Buddha Christ Mohammed Moses Abraham
Lao Tzu & Confucius were congregated sharing their visions
deep inside of us
as if Vishnu Shiva Krishna & Kali were swirling around dancing
amongst the stars deep inside of us -

as if Blake Poe Burns Yeats Whitman Dickinson Baudelaire
Cervantes Dante Apollinaire Lorca Neruda & a thousand other poets
were trying to speak deep inside of us -

as if the paintings of Brueghel Bosch Leonardo Michelangelo Botticelli
Van Gogh Goya Whistler Rousseau Gauguin Chagall Rivera Frieda
Dali Picasso Pollack Warhol were hanging from the walls of the Jumble Jar
deep inside of us-

as if a hundred novels lurked just below the surface
deep inside of us
as if the world itself swirled about just beneath the surface
deep inside of us
as if our eyes contained the world becoming what we see
reborn deep inside of us -

as if mountain ranges plateaus the steppes & savannah
fields of wheat fields of snow to rocky barrens to green meadows
to atolls islands to polar ice-caps even the continents
were contained deep inside of us-

as if every word ever said from the inane & mundane
to the profound & insightful to words of anger resentment jealousy sadness
to compassionate to mean & spiteful to juicy bits of idle gossip
to farewells to see you later to bugger off & never come back again
were filed away & still breathing
deep inside of us -

as if every sound ever heard from complaining crows screeching bluejays
choruses of singing frogs to trees groaning in heavy winds
to startling sirens of ambulances police cars fire-engines
rumbling eighteen -wheeler trucks to quiet slow moving hearses
leading funeral processions to song-birds singing sweetly
to rippling roaring crashing thunderous waves of oceans & lakes
streams & rivers against rocks & sand
stirring beneath the surface deep inside of us-

as if all the music ever hummed whistled sung played from banging on logs
to complex Ragas of India
to Gregorian chants to Zen monks chanting OM
to chamber music to minuets & symphonies to etudes & variations
from Vivaldi to Beethoven & Brahms to Wagner
from washboards & washtubs to Saxophones to Synthesizer
from Ravel Debussy & Satie to the enigma of John Cage
from the Blues Jazz & big band
from Robert Johnson to Louis Armstrong to Miles Davis
from Woody Guthrie to Bob Dylan
all fused together deep inside of us -

as if all the dead were locked away screaming sobbing lamenting
some demanding to send out messages to the world
some gently reach out to comfort us
some quietly meditate having found peace at last
deep inside of us -

as if the beloved were waiting just below the surface
arms out-stretched to embrace
deep inside of us-

as if sometimes the ice inside of us were too thick even to crack
leaving only the clear blue pack-ice jammed against the shore
deep inside of us -

as if houses were blazing with Christmas lights
flickering or subdued
wire & wood shaped reindeer & elves
& cartoon characters
sometimes pumpkins & bales of hay
some real red & yellow leaves on branches
positioned just so in front of these houses
posters of rabbits on doors in windows
never crucifixion the core of their religion
wanting to soft sell it
like seasonal fashions in clothes
a confusion of beliefs pagan & christian
in the spirit of good will & commercialism
& whatever is most pleasing to the masses
as if the deepest questions were just a nuisance
all that kneeling & praying
asking forgiveness from a mythical father figure
embracing the ancient mother goddess
as if there were no answer & no forgiveness
as if all that you do
is the luggage you carry
into the next world-

as if the indulgences & tributes you paid
as if the beasts & birds of your burnt offerings
were just another con
to make the temple priests rich
no longer able to bribe your way
out of heaven or hell
as if all these terrible phony gurus
popes archbishops ministers pastors & vicars
ayatollahs mystics were leading their flocks astray
corrupting & mangling the messages
of their original teachers
the avatars of god who cry out for justice
to be kind to one another
to be as we should be
as if there were a pure religion
as if there were a spiritual need
as if we needed a new creed-

as if we feared the sudden
appearance of tanks & soldiers
on our streets overnight
deep inside our paranoid dreams-

as if a shift unseen in the scheme of things
out of fear what unseen forces are unleashed
as if death squads wandered our streets at night
in black shirts & brown shirts
in pin-striped suits & skirts
changing & bending the law as it suits them-

as if politics were outside the realm
of your precious poetry
your mediocre saccharin
maudlin sentimental verse as it were
as if a poem existed in a vacuum
as if a poem existed
without someone to compose it
to speak it to write it
for others to share-

as if some were to head into the country side
some try to fight to make a stand
using harsh language against tanks
as if so many cared only about wealth
caring nothing for the poor
as if big brother invented the tv
to keep us all pacified or terrified
left in silent awe
as if it were like almost armageddon
as if armageddon would never arrive
as if we were in the midst of armageddon
as if armageddon were part of our past-

as if no dreams ever came true
as if all dreams came true
as if beneath the rocks were hidden
the secrets of the universe-

as if we had died & been reborn-

as if the mechanism itself were broken
it slipped a cog an incident occurred
as if it could be fixed
what arrogance we have
tossing out a barrage of words
going into a rant
as if the world needed our ranting
pointing our fingers
as if we were regressing or just digressing
from what is important-

as if a new era were to dawn
repenting of all that we regretted
as if we could see clearly
while swimming in our mental stew
of stray thoughts & memories
wishing we were like a diamond
being totally aware
as if this were too much
as if too imagine it all in such detail
the color of the carpet of the walls
always red & white
the ceiling the bookcase
the chesterfield the fireplace
or lack there of
as if it were a textbook
as if it means nothing to you
a weekend or a decade of memories
gone in an instant
as if love were breaking its vows
a solace to some despair for others
enter & despair
as if it were a wintry Christmas day
as if it were easter morning
the world of a child
Christmas trees & lights
chocolate bunnies & cowboy hats
as if each morning the messiah arrives
as welcome as the beloved-

as if the minimal artist
practiced his art to perfection
one day sat at his table by the window
in some out of the way cafe
exclusive to poor atists
he never moved or spoke again
the proprietor failed to notice
him for a week or two
as if he only allowed himself to see
what he needed to see
soon he would not need to see at all
to be without these impediments
seeing hearing tasting feeling
as if they were all part of the illusion
of the greatest & first magician-

as if joy & happiness
were commodities to be bought & sold
as if despair & misery were free of charge
as if ordering takeout
of one emotion or another
available in sixty-four flavours
as if we could choose
as if the past were of no consequence
as if we were a blank slate
as if we were born filled to the brim
of all that has been
as if we had arrived in that brave new world
we had always feared
as if all around us were robots
thinking machines of wheels & cogs
never regretting
their preplanned conversations
their preplanned lives
even their wild care-free days planned in detail
living it up in their college years
a hundred one night stands
a hundred bodies left behind
of those who never made the grade
who didn't quite fit in
it's just a bunch of sad little cliches beyond that
as they claw their way to success
insisting on the party line
of the new status quo-

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