Brother Bernard
of the Order
of the Benedict,
in the crypt
he is
lighting candles
and praying for the souls
of all men,
one gland in an organ,
one small mystic in
one Mystical Reality.
Meanwhile back
at humble ranch
called the Holy Hostel
of the Goddess Beauty
in old-new cacophonic City
in the ancient-future near-East,
from one meek tower
minnaret hard-cast citadel peering down
quite ugly on
Brother Bernard
comes the edict:
'You, sir,
'are irrelevant.'
Sister Frances
in the City
wonders at the
hymn she's hearing
from the Hostel:
'I'm bringing home a baby
'bumblebee,
'won't my Mommy . . .?
'I'm bringing home a baby . . .'
Father Athanasius
opens thick oak doors to these
ancient kuniks, but these
recent smaller breeds have disavowed
the arbitrary orders
of Chihuahan border,
nipping at his heels
in all humility,
beauty, and complexity;
he meanwhile has
a Mass
to get to.
'I'm squishing up my baby
'bumblebee,
'won't my mommy be so proud of me?
'I'm squishing up my baby
'bumble-bee . . .'
-r
