Relax We’re Already Dead

fraction of accident: obedience
though curly black intimidating
embarrassments accrue (eyes, hair?), clotted
divine self missing for days, weeks perhaps
hard to know precise moment
separation of soul body
so quick unnoticed like death by sniper-shot
Tibetan book of the dead (with Jungian intro)
they really knew this stuff
(not Jessica Mitford’s
no way to get rid of the damned stiff
without blowing thousands before lunch
and speaking of lunch: that ain’t free either
),
crammed the Cliff’s Notes waiting for
this Day
or one much like or near it
when abrupt alienation
wandering
ridiculous avenues for souls to –
really it can be too much with-out the proper
training, grounding faith, whatever
this sudden universal STOP
and everyone stumbling around
hypnotized, confused (as usual)
not wise to the –
nowhere near it –
billions of chumps turned ectoplasmic
clumps, Zombie Pinheads chanting
Iggy and The Stooges in tongues,
Patti Smith, Minutemen, Ramones
about all day sniffing glue
nowhere to go nothing to do:
we all “travel economo” now”
no shit, on that score:
they don’t – or won’t – realize
not yet, maybe not ever,
that this one thing, this END
is ever after always now: forever

Adam Engel lived for your sins -- and he lived well! -- in Fear-and-Trembling, Brooklyn, one of the last gangrenous toes of NYC not yet severed and replaced with a prosthetic gentrification device. Read other articles by Adam, or visit Adam's website.