From the quill of Sun Wukong
From the ink well of his glorious past

A slip of arrogance,
A whit of swagger, &
A bit of bombast

Ev’ry inch a poet, a prophet,
& a priest!

W/ each swing of my cudgel
Mountains fall, valleys form,
& rivers once deep

Run dry

[A Choir Of Monkeys En Burnt Cork
& Lips Grotesquely Painted Ivory White.]
Brio! Brio! Brio!

Truly, the sun has embraced countless moons
Since last eye fell 2 my knees
B’fore the Spirits of green wood & clear stream

But on this daye, en this stronghold of the dead, eye am here
On my knees en petition, en prayer

As the burden of my transgressions, my sins, have grown too fat 2 bear
Much too much 4 even these broad, hairy shoulders

[Aside.]
Shoulders that scarcely find room en rarefied aire!

So eye have come here 2 purge them all!

En this blasted furnace
En this morbid hall

Ev’ry slight
Ev’ry hurtful word

Ev’ry ill-ententioned
Blow 2 the gut

Ev’ry peach pilfered &
Drunken maleficence

Ev’ry lengthy, lusty stare, & remark
& ev’ry challenger’s face pushed ento the muck

{One-Beat Pause}

The entirety of my Life en the clouds has led 2 this;
A symphonie of realised emptiness, sacrifice, & torrential bliss

& it’s plain for even the thickest of thick-headed monkeys 2 see

That if eye am 2 open the way &,
After 500 years buried beneath stone,
Herd cows ento The Pure Land

Eye’ll need 2 stop leaking rays of light
Eye’ll need 2 cleanse this body, a body of cosmic flesh & cosmic bone

Eye’ll need 2 stop leading w/ my left
(En ev’ry . . . single . . . round)
Boasting of my trickeries
Boasting of theft

& eye’ll need 2 do more than proudly wear these scars
. . . iron remnants of a beautiful corruption clumsily put 2 rest

{Fingercymbals-Twice}

What eye’ll do is this –

Eye’ll find the source of the Ganges
& 4 a spell, put down my shoulder armor & cudgel

Eye’ll fall 2 my knees
Eye’ll wait 4 the moon 2 wax

Eye’ll close my eyes, open my arms
& wait 4 the grove 2 bloom, the egg 2 crack

Waist deep,
Eye’ll circumvent the old ford
& not tarry

Eye’ll wash behind my ears
& b’tween my toes

Eye’ll brush away the scars on my shoulders
Eye’ll brush away the scars on my soul

W/out buckling
W/out being told

{One-Beat Pause}

Truly, ol’ Monkey does not wish 2 be forgiven
Truly, ol’ Monkey does not wish 2 be free of his past

[A Choir Of Monkeys En Burnt Cork
& Lips Grotesquely Painted Ivory White.]
Brio! Brio! Brio!

Ol’ Monkey wishes merely 2 be free

At last

© LogosVox 2014