(Dedicated to my cousin; Christopher)
Lord Deliver Us from Mediocrity
I beg to be obscure. I believe I read it in all the stars.
On those nights I feel disgust and sickness of heart for this old world;
On those nights especially, I beg whatever God for the power of being obscure.
(Obscurity hides me in her bossom-like an unborn child,
cooing to me softly as a would-be mother, abating the fever from my brow, kissing away my cares....)
I toast my total obscurity, incogniscence...
"You will leave me to my obscurity?" I hint to wintry night skies, beseechingly, once alone.
"Leave my dust with the Dust of Alexander? ("Stuffing a bunghole?")
I smile uncertainly but with a hint of cavalier.
If you listen on certain days and nights the wind speaks cold words that only some of us can cipher.
The moonlit clouds race by and you have to listen very hard to all four winds to understand and make words of it.
I hear moans and roars and then words.
On certain nights the dismal cries of the world can deafen a man, or defeat him.
Walking down homeless paths and hearing the coughs of men and women puking up their hearts and souls and dreams.
I run and cover my ears and fall to my knees in a windless dark place,
trying not to hear the curses and the prayers.
I fall on my face covering my ears.
Why is it I can only hear it?
Can you understand the desire to be obscure?
To be faceless and heartless and not deafen myself with it all.
Deliver me from this wisdom and knowing.
Rather, let me be obscure, but ever mediocre.
Deliver us all, Oh Lord, from mediocrity.
Copyright 4/1/09 Ortley Cane
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