Nino is Gone

if one stood alone throwing stigma to the whisperers,

perfectly still in one’s thoughts and the conviction of then,

could one feel the presence of the wandering nerve

or hear the voice of the genius of place? stop and listen,

nino is gone and so is that bridge of horatius with less years.

whistler is gone and so is that garden sage of secret misnomers.

there was never a first human. ancient astrid frozen in amber,

what flowers are left with the cognitive mechanism for grasping

the hybrid monster of our heritage? where is peace and comity,

walking eden out of rome right past all the king’s men

doing it their way with no commitment to eternal verities?

no, in this world full of distraction there could be a more perfect union.

living documents crumble and bombard the vagus,

a charge on the last nerve running at the split, right and left corpus.

how mad it felt being alive and quiet, so dependent on gravity

knowing we destroyed ourselves as abraham said, a fall

from within, a chesterton prophecy, forget judicial relevance.

we need another originalist like moss between windrows,

hair unkempt, dirty nails and chapped lips, standing alone

a sun blistered society way out past the mission walk mowing,

one must have time to contemplate the way the grass grows,

alone, without the greatest document ever struck, trying new

modes of government not born into or created by war.

walk through briars into newer and better experiments

moored alongside a floating city-state of your own choosing,

a jigsaw puzzle vying to attract the best, vying to fulfill

the eight moral imperatives and to live in balance with nature.

with the technology to foster the fluid mechanics of a voluntary society,

this is the age and time to choose our freedom, our humanity.

leave that old geography to harness the seas! wandering

nerves gather independently into new societies.

deep in the interior or valiantly floating on the great blue frontier,

changing the world before colonizing the dark liquor,

the spine of old documents gather a new verve,

evolve stronger on our wandering vagus nerve,

harness the power of nature, direct the four winds!

vade retro satana! if one stood alone not tempted by vanities,

not forced to drink from this poisonous cup of insanity,

one could hear the genii of place and observe the way.

the light of the compass cross., a dawn rose on the seas of a new day.