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THE PISCEAN AGE SEEMS TO BE ABOUT SINGING THE BLUES
THE PISCEAN AGE SEEMS TO BE ABOUT SINGING THE BLUES
Clouds pass the full moon in the cobalt sky skimming mountains
As ennui chasing the infinite blueness across the evening sky; very
Deep water moves over the globe- how blue is the earth from space.
Every time I say the word “blue” I am laying up sadness for myself;
I have no other way to express my love for the earth and the night.
Our memories feed on falling rain, cloudy days and evening skies
So many invisible angels keeps us drowning in the blues; the crow
Returns to Noah’s arc to remind us of forty days of rain; wherever
There is water, there is always someone drowning in the deep blue.
So it is sometimes that my poems are sad; I accidentally stumble into
Star Chambers where habeas corpus is denied and the wrong man is
Executed. My small talent is weighted down beneath the waters.
We inherited much when we inherited the seas; we will never have one
Whole day of peace. The armies of solemnity always has its back against
The sea. Perhaps if we used no words we wouldn’t be porous to the blues.
The blue ink we write with stains our fingers; our reason is tainted with
All the misnomers we have for gain counted by someone else loss. The
Debts that can never be paid from this turns the blue into red ink.
We seem to value addition and subtraction too much; our happiness is not
Contingent on loss or gain; salmon know this when swimming in the blue
Water upstream. The Piscean Age seems to be about singing the blues.
