THE LITTLE SAINT GERARD
The little saint Gerard
Couldn’t hurt a mouse.
Brother Jack will testify.
The little saint Gerard
In the Lord’s house
Watches over all God’s creatures
Large and small.
Illness got the better of him
On earth, on earth, but not in Heaven.
The little saint Gerard
Feels no pain at all.
The Lord won’t allow it.
The little saint Gerard
suffers no more.
Brother Jack wrote it down
In his Visions of Gerard.
AND I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM
Far away with thoughts of nothingness.
On a cloudlike surface is where my mind
Threads on and I don’t know who I am.
Traveling to distant locales,
A wandering spirit, lost in the world,
And I don’t know who I am.
My face is unrecognizable to me.
Could you shake up my mind?
I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know who I am.
Miles from where I stand is the real me.
A cloud surfaces in my mind’s haste
And I don’t know who I am.
These hands attached to my person
Feel like the hands of a stranger.
My face is unrecognizable to me.
Could you shake up my mind?
I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know who I am.
I WAS ANGRY WHEN I WROTE THIS
A slave is one
Who can’t find time to read,
Always doing
Favors for everybody.
3 comments:
The art of being a slave is to rule one's master.
The slave is freer than the master as the former can get by quite fine without the latter.
to alexander--
quite stealing my lines ye twat and stand out of my sun
to dogface diogenes--
if i were not alexander, i would be diogenes
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