I wrote that last (Epitaph) around 1986.
First poem that I liked.
I've since lost all my material from that time...so this is from memory.
Back thrn, everyone thought it was a suicide note(!)...but it was ,on the one hand, merely prophetic....and on the other, attempting to convey a deep need for a change of scenery...of circumstances...which wouldn't be fulfilled till much later.
When I woke up in Hermann, after that wreck, one of the first things that came to mind was the last part...about afterlife...and my Grandma, who happened to be sitting there(RIP), was worried....
Gagoo (what I called her...ergo, what everyone called her)...she was Conservative...but very Pragmatic, in a very Stoic sort of way. Being married to Pop (my Grandad) did that...as well as growing up in the Depression.
I have always, almost habitually, maintained an Alias...a Nom de Guerr....
at that time, I was still Joe D'moe.
Before, and much younger, I was Turin Architamon (!?).
The former served me well...kept the Cops confused...
I have been Amfortas, the Hippie,for ten years...
I derived this from a character in Parzifal whom I identified with.
Amfortas was the Grail King, the Fisher King...Wounded in the Thigh, a euphamism for Castration, loss of Potency.As a result of this Wound, the Kingdom, Monsalvaat, fell to Ruin...the Wasteland.Kept alive by the Grail, in wich the Spear of Destiny would be dipped, and applied to the Wound, he was nevertheless in Great Pain...
What would Heal Amfortas' Wound was the arrival of the Holy Fool, Parsifal...who would, innocently , ask the Holy Qustion..."Uncle, What ails thee?"...and the second qusestion,asked of the Grail,itself; "How do I serve thee?"
This would heal the King, and thereby, heal the Land...the Wasteland would bloom.
In real life, my Wife is playing the part of Parsifal....to my great Relief, and Happiness.
I am going Dark.
It is pointless to argue, any more....
The country is split...the Factions cannot Compromise, as they live in Parallel Universes...
I grow weary of either preaching to the choir, or arguing with stumps...there is no dialog with the latter....
...and there is no "Middle"....save for the Apathetic Apolitical Mundanes....and these are even more tiresome.
My efforts will be Local...and mostly without fanfare.
Garden, Poultry,etc....perhaps I'll write a book,that no one will read or understand.
Major construction is finished around here...minor nibbling, like more insulation, and paint.
I shall go, at last, into the Monastery...and close the door....
And await the Fall of Empire.
There is nothing more to do, out here.
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