VOLUME 10 TABLE OF CONTENTS                                           Monster Beneath Mass Graves part two of Darkness Fades to Hope

Mass Grave That Lies Beneath mp3 Slightly different version minus out the media screen to read along II        Monster Beneath Mass Graves A momentary glistening of wax Appears when the wick is first lit As you kindle a work of eons, awaken A scaffold of figurines and dead magic.   You melt as divine heat and light Turns fingers and toes into mitts and paws, The primal buds and polyps of creation. One spiritual instant the length of a heartbeat When all flesh recycles, a soul is reborn and Love finally enters the world.   Lanterns hung like abandoned spirits where The crusader shook my hand and prayed for me And in joining the body-soul-wedding of the world I learned to close my eyes and ask for what I want.   I make this larger than life-size announcement Every time I share my microphone with giants.   The on-stage evangelist seeking salvation moves the hit counter one soul count, as you, the horn-man, reedman, saxophone guy grows fainter, more underground where no wisdom can reach, but hallucination, deep in your music, a monster loosened, till a rose of self-help shines within no matter whether Induced by oxygen starvation Or an organ pipe horror theme.   The bone-biting, cold nausea of aerosol anxiety, Street-lit glimmer of a near-future Tesla halo Engulfs you in electrostatically charged darkness, As another gloom-girl babe hikes her leather skirt And exposes her twist of fate, her forklift truth, Her death-angel beauty, fleshed-out overnight. She wants to play with your music hall symbols On the crack smoldering burial mound of existence, That mass grave of every place you’ve ever been.   She tries to persuade despite the guy from Jersey Yelling to the band and down the flop-hotel corridors Of all your worldly understanding and cooperation.   Lieutenant of sleaze, you carry out the orders Not to play any rest, or diamond, not one pause. Can’t you play and breathe later, he screams? The music from Jersey sweats like damp plumbing Filling in the space between notes, no quarter. One more silence and you’ll be fired, he threatens.   The babe only wants your warm-skinned exchange The left-over reward of road war and song, Not your work of lip and lung, no ebb-tide flow, No summer wind and life-guard gray-eyed calm. She has no interest in the bar window reflection You scried by night divining its luminous icons.   Pay me, screw me, save me Goes her constant theme,   Each chorus more intense than before, and again The shadowy persons leaning against the blistered wall Beyond the plate glass world you explore like a crystal, Persons lining up to be played to, paying out, Getting screwed, getting saved, paying off The hunger and thirst of an endless reflection Of persons played over and sprayed with music, Your outer layer beginning to melt in the muzzle-flash Of continuous drill and breath-being meditation, Yoga lessons in punk-neon attitude, hint of a cross Splinters of woodshed, poisoned by gardenia and Sunday social dance dates filling your goat horn With more petals set adrift than your mind can follow.   Deeper you chase the monster, and you too, chased by the preacher, the straw boss and the prostitute, Money, skin and salvation falling thru yawning caves, The gold and the splinters and the savage warmth all Tumbling in desperate room-search for money and guns.   Warm your hands and feel the naked energy. Close your eyes and fire up your inner candles. Join in the hopes and wishes of a dangerous world, As the prayer bell rings as pure as the taste of ice. related poem

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