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Wednesday, February 25, 2009

CORPORAL, All-Night Love Encounter

All-Night Love Encounter

The corporal, he saw time,
He saw thirty seconds, he saw temporal instance,
He saw the spin, the vortex, the event plane,
Where all disappeared, but to him it was real,
Just like any other object in the book of life.

He was turning the corner into his living room,
He saw the couch become clear light,
Transparent, a configuration of lines,
Blue lines on white background, and at the bottom,
Right hand corner a lined, rectangular box spelled out
Blanks to be composed at latter time,

Corporal walked out of the dream,
He slipped into another familiar space,
He lay upon the bed on his back,
He bent forwards and touched he feet,
He grasped his toes. He was smarting;

He was hurting all over! He suffered!
It seemed every muscle, every joint ached.

My! What a plethora of subjects crossed his mind.

The corporal, he saw every crack and crevice of heaven.
He rolled up, brought knees to chest, and then white light,
He caught such gigantic power,
That night he broke the bubble and went beyond,
He went way beyond the stars, he walked a field,
The wheat had grown up to his waist,
He ran full speed, and he could see himself,
He could see himself stark, dark figure in the distance,
While he ran, he ran, break neck, towards horizon,

Horizon of black-and-yellow, checker-board-colored sky,

It was at that moment he turned to ask her,

Their clothes were scattered throughout the parlor,
It was late night and a view of lower Manhattan lights,
The buildings, street lamps and bridges burned,
Out the window the illumination, awesome,
Out the window view from
The twenty-fifth floor of the high rise,

He asked how it had been for her,
Corporal wondered because they had never left
The front room couch and the sadness of reentry,
Earth’s gravity began to exert its heavy hold.

And she, adopting chapter and verse from
The good Doctor Leary’s work, replied,

“A thousand times better, it was!”
A thousand times better, corporal queried?

Their clothes were scattered throughout the parlor,

Corporal flashed in Technicolor,
A motion picture screen,
It occupied the theater before his eyes,
The hall was vast with long-drawn aisles and fretted vault,
Chandeliers lit up architecture,
A long, flat-board stage, it had a trough for footlights,
And at its edge, an orchestra pit.
Ornate blocks, and floral and leafy rosettes in high relief,
Accented the luxury, the scene unfolded
A vision, long-ago, workman studios,
Corporal saw another time, another place, industry,
Beyond narrow focus of bottom line,
He lamented how terrible the cost of greed,
How new notions, corporate priority had come replace
Every-day love and regard for hands making things.

And upon the walls were fluted columns,
Between them paintings, pictures of deep woods,
Which themselves opened upon coves
And secret gardens whose waters reflected,
Compounded a scene of amorous gods,

At sport, love making with mythical creatures.

And when his eyes returned to the drama
The show that ran upon on the screen,
At first he thought, Popeye,
But no, no Olive Oyl, there,
Instead he saw a white-hot blonde,
With long, curly tresses, bouncing from her shoulders,
-- Remember these were full action figures --
Then he realized the carton characters, which played,
They were he and she,
They were locked within impossible embrace.

Corporal heard the music score, wham bam,
Thank you ma’am, he checked,
He reached around his torso, touched his back,
He had to see were his spine still in place.

He wondered whether contortionists on view,
A dream, or was it third-person glimpse,
The camera’s true capture, the hours’ previous delight,
Now projected with vivid light,

Oh, the animation and color before him!

He mulled it over, he was trying to discern,
What was real, what was not?
And then fell to warm, all-over, pleasant body heat,
And heard what he knew was voice of the Lord,

“Eagle, Eagle arise… Why sleep now?
It is dawn, and eat and drink,
And all the eagles wait to watch you.”

And she, her face an inch away from his,
She sighed and responded, again, to his query,

“It was a thousand times better!” She said.

Corporal ran, he ran, break neck, towards horizon.

It was late night and a view of lower Manhattan lights,
The buildings, street lamps and bridges burned,
Out the window the illumination, awesome,
Out the window view from
The twenty-fifth floor of the high rise.

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