Tom Booker
Something’s unreal about us together
grouping and groping for mundane purpose
to amuse, to dispose, to boost slippery ego
less majesty than anyone might rightly propose.
EDIFICE REX we build but occasionally
when ground zero sustains frontal assault?
More often we achieve an ANIMUS MIX
a misery of personal montage and melee.
Who, in fact, are we, that mindfully aspire
to reach for landscape that’s not much higher
than business–a concern for exclusive few
for status, for comfort, relief from fleet fears?
What temple will welcome the spirit-most seeker
bearing insight above the book of its order?
What roar can bestir the hearts of our kind
unite “these” into “us”, beyond any issue?
Mem’ry fails to conjure the awesome potential
community of God and humans did promise.
This power, this blessing, for each, for all
dwells dormant beneath our mastery of sanguine.
