going backwards?

oh really!

arguments come about;

you’re going back to the caves,

a kid said

but big bully john

smacks peter hard, knocks him down: what do you know?

the crowd sees this confidence, buys it – almost

till the undercurrents hit harder than usual,

john was left without

his underpants. what you looking at? angry john

fumed having been caught

and it was not that pretty.

the crowd laughed, oh john

they said and began to poke fun

while peter pressed on with his question –

hey big john he cried out: you ain’t that big!

red faced, embarrassed, john rushed

unto peter – smacks him hard on the stomach: oh yeah

as air left;

peter doubled over, heck this crap

why should i care?

exits from the scene while the crowd

listened to john who has now dressed up

again, grinning he says, happens to anyone.

no caves, only utopia rushed, isn’t that

the goal?

with solemn crowd nodding, of course

it is, peter comes back through

an entrance – with a bunch

of soothsayers. they performed a ritual,

set a candle alight; incantations in the dark

and an angel appeared who seemed to

be rather lost, for the angel

forgot to breathe,

having never taken air

on earth. what is this crap?

dear lords john cried out, angels that

do not breathe in air;

ridicules that lot – just a bunch of clowns

all dressed up. he said.

then peter, peter the one who

led soothsayers into the midst

plucked out sand from

an angel’s eye. see, see, hear, hear

he shouted. to no one in particular.

and angels they grinned – could have fooled me

they sprinkled angel’s dust to

a weary crowd – don’t you see?

and now they did, with sands nullifiied

they surely saw

of monstrous mouths, like caves

opening wide. to devour

from a million flames; moths to a fire

and john’s underpants caught

on fire!

what the hell

john bellowed,

for now

it is surely seen

all the many holes in john’s tiny heart.

caves, dots, black holes

and angels

they stopped breathing,

so the dense crowd

could

understand.

like kids, slowly learning

why a b v

1 3 100

they lose touch

of. course.

but when angels struggle,

the crowd – they too

halt, pause

on their observation, wise guess,

following a familiar pattern – but

life isn’t. you know. familiar.

it is like john and peter,

and an audience –

who’s playing?

now fire spits.

stakes are raised;

then angels flew upwards

a static crowd remains

like earth, stone, inert.

backpaddle;

steam rises, hot air comes down

and yes it makes no sense: you heard that right

with

more weaving, more beliefs, more faith,

more drama, more theatrics, more shouting,

i’ll pay.

and the crowd no longer

were sure if it was peter or

john that said –

gold. gold no longer bright, no longer yellow,

no longer valuable. just another cheap metal.

exits

a door slams

and a crowd no longer

chasing dreams. just angels

gone to heaven.