I. A Meditation on God / For Quartets & Reading in Waste

I do not know much about gods —
Beyond sharp edges, granite, marble, & Marvel
Presentations.
& that they come around through the seasons,
in tours & stores,
Always on time…
For the worshippers of the machine.

Every day, lying,
prospecting the sky,
calculating the future.
Every night, lying,
evading eyes in the face of the clock in the corner.
Unweave, unwind, unravel.
Riddle, rattle, rapture,
sustain & release.
Piece together the past & future patterns
from an unrecognizable pasture
at a point in presence pastoral.
And the mind begins to babble...
as the debts begin to tower...
Beyond the limits of language found in Babel...
Or baths of Babylon...
What a gift from the gods I know not much about.

Who only come up in between midnight and dawn,
Or in the apparent gaze of the aforementioned,

Always Poignant,
exactly on time,
never a millisecond late.
Existing in between,
brief moments of latency & disconnected discourse.

For the worshippers of the machine,
Who prefer to graze in the wake within their gaze on the screen.
I guess I am
just/jest, not like the rest.
I see scenes of being
Shepherd in my dreams of electric sheep
& turn in my rest.
But, in my wake,
I simply scrape past
For scraps...

C. 2024 / Published: Untitled: In Progress* / Unfinished Works by: Jet Le Parti

Presented at "Burn Pits, Settled Dust, & Weather Reports" at Base 36 / (NY)