Hole / Sept. ii (Sept 12/13-01)
A totally inadequate poem
From the Journals of the Kirk-- Why do I take pictures 1985:
So, here we have it. I want to share with you a world. I want to tell you that the world is at once an unapproachable glory, the outlands of heaven in our midst. I want to tell you that the world is alive with ongoing miracle and that the trees are like hard seaweed on the bottom of the Numa Sea . (Where did that come from?) I want too, to tell you that the thing is broken, the world has veered, and the code has been rewritten. I want you to sell your car or house, Finally, I want them to tear down the World Trade Centers… or better yet, convert them into apartments for the poor, or if not that, build some huge barn between them and make them into the front spires of a very grand cathedral.
I’ll admit,this thought isn’t safeor a thing I say too loud (but hear me out.)I have seen them with a foreign eyelike turrets on a godless-church,silvereen, and soaring highTestimonies to the arrogance of managainst every rule of nature,TALL with vertigo and force,streaming upward likewelded boxcars --Two silver fistsin the face of God:Like spikes in a rotted apple.But today, I weepand if you will, let mewith imaginationbleed.Bleed for pagansand believers,the bearded business men, thebrokers and the broken,the silent mimes and firemen,sisters, daughters, mothers, fathers, andthese ever-feuding sons of Abraham --Indeed,Father Abrahamhas many sons --those who walk in faith and seeka citymade by God;But don't we weep to seeFaith twisted into obscene forms.---
Today,I see with different eyes,and I repent .. for wearing monocles.Could it bethat a THING might beMOREthan any ONE thingat once?Today, I see what weretwin trumpets,Blasting out a tune toto the majesty of man.I seetwo treesmightier than redwoods,brushing starsand brushedin lemon lightlike a sky-house hotelfor Leprechauns.I seemighty rivers deckedin vivid commerce;Old-world villagesreplete with jugglers and silk –boats on ropes whizzing up the ditchesladen with exotic wares from foreign landslike some grand-markettipped upward.I see twinTowers, like thin lanes of light,Bars of gold, beacons on the rim --shining out a tale ofindustry and mightand incomprehensible blessing --leading a parade.I see within,and on each floor(stacked above each other like coins)a little town from Arkansascompletewith hatted menand football teams,the smiling bells (now wearing jeans)and the bee-hive ladies yakkingat the hair salon.I see faith in the 24the century.Indeed,We saw a universewith fifty-thousand centersanchored in a common block.We heard the twine of beating heartslike a ten-thousand drums, and thenthe lull,and now, the torturedpatter of the few,And we felt within ourselvesthe stuff of horror.Veins, and brainsand towers like slit arteriescollapsing into bloody dustbefore our eyes...They say, on the radio todaythat this is a different country.And we believe it.We will never feel the same.We are all new Yorkers, wearing black.***Once there were two towersTall as titansFull of graceShe wore the moon within her hair,He wore the sun upon his face,and they walked in the gardenwith I-AMwithout shame.
Then some devil of a serpentslashed the air,One tower fell, and then…