I claw regularly for oxygen
A psalm spoken: inconsequent
Small token, impotent, intoxicant-
My calm long broken,
I palm along the occident

Divining truth from texture
Calling conclusions from the crevices
In the voice Jesus used to address
Lazarus' paralysis
I command you, truth, to roll out you boulder! rise!
let us renegotiate the genesis.

I beg and wheedle, but even so, no needle
could squeeze through the camel eyes of you,
rich, rebellious truth.

Your eyes -- do they see me?
They stare absently through.

Truth, turn to me!
I am speaking to you.

What! No reply?
I touch your leg, do you not sigh?
Do you not feel my hand upon your thigh?
I sacrifice, do you sanctify?
I slit your throat, do you not die?

The truth is rude -- yes, rich and rude!
She lifts a cold eyebrow
When I try shyly to intrude.

Truth, I understand and know you,
though we've never met
I knew when I first collapsed to call
and crawl along the occident.

You are not some rising, rhythmic breathing
moving the sleeping fur pelt of facts
You are nothing but the long, long scheming
of a skillful disappearing act.

I was told to seek, and that I would find
I have been too long on the hunting grind
I was told to drink, and be satisfied
The water as wet as emperor's clothes and eyes,
but even still, I tried!

I still tried.

I really tried.

I tried.

I set my arrows and bow aside.
I have been too long on the hunting grind.
But I tell you that I tried!
Do you hear me,
mother, brother, sister, Father?
Will you reply?