The Papers
Surfing through time—
Speaking to any who will listen—
Watch I the king spread out papers
In My Temple in Jerusalem
His garment rent
His spirit troubled with concern
The gift of My answer
Receiving on this day
Watch I the poet hang a paper
On his fridge—My Fridge—
His hair tousled where not missing
His spirit troubled with concern
Over the launching of the Great Tribulation
As he searches governmental ways
The gift of My answer
Thrilling like a bolt of light
Sobering him long after
He loses count of days
Writes the poet his letter
To Red Mills Road
That hangs by hold of My spirit
Troubling the heart of the poet
Till lay open I to his mind
My favor of announcement
Which proclaim may I by scholars
Or others at My behest
In the way and time choose I
Which the poet begins to hint
As begins he to understand
By My spirit thrust
A second paper
To My Fridge pins the poet
Watch I him wriggling
As responsibility beyond assumes he
Attempting a dance
Of the Wu Li masters which fails
As finds the poet himself
On the ship of the darkened sun
By the bell he is furnished to toll
Overguided by proddings to prayer
As shown is he the loose cannon
Which is powdered and plunged
Purring and pondered
Pointing hard
At the sync and the site
To be spattered with spirit stuff
When the cannonball cuffs the crowns—
Shouted softly by the slave—
Happy are the ones who traverse
the thirteen hundred thirty five days
to see Saturday the first of August
in the year two thousand twenty six
So tolls the poet My Bell
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