WILL TO POWER

 

Superman of hope and will

Not kill. The man of the pre-

Sent day, superhuman.

 

A dream of eternal re-

currence, Zarathustra

Thrust from cold stone.

 

The clarity of dream like

A Keats Ian capability.

A poet essential lone-

liness, part four.

 

Zarathustra’s truth, a bee,

With to much honey. Man

Is hope stretched between

Rope and animal, a dangerous

Crossing the abyss, trembling.

 

I love him who is truth, can’t

They see through blind faith.

Fear not, there is no devil.

 

Billionaire filth thrust off

To outer space porn.

The voice of will to power

Give to the earth its meaning.

 

I suck on the breasts of 1891

Gushing fountains, dance

You lovely maidens thus sang

Zarathustra, such is the way

Of living things.

 

My will to power, truth beauty.

The painted future thus spoke

Zarathustra. Immaculate perception.

Shadow of Zarathustra.

Does it?

 

Last night through the black

Face mask a fragmented face

Like Dad with glasses appeared.

 

I don’t know what to make of this

Or does it make anything of me

as Ray Carver said any minute now.

 

So strange when your mind

Tilts and shutters like a snap-

Shot back into focus, a vert-

i-go split second matter or

does it not matter.