Oh, child,
you ask: do I know
do I know why and where the guinea-pigs go?

I look up at a constellation
It looks like an arrow
they call it Sagitta
where does it point
Cupid's bow
Love?
Hercules rod
dipped in blood
venom of Hydra
pointing 'off there'
does anyone dare—
to ask? really?
Does anyone ask and want to know?
—Except for the Child,
They question so.
There. Yes, They want to know.
Anoint us all
in death—Oh, Child.
In your question: the unfathomed land.
Oh, Child!
you ask more than I can stand!

I've traveled half a century
still, that arrow and the moon
(The moon: wrapped...
like a perfect clock-face each night.)
I look for grace
taste what scientist trace
(take heed, they too are priests)
—they ask the same.
in black robes: "where do the guinea pigs go"
...no matter his name
he too, a child
Or she,
grieving as children do
the grave
they grieve the same.
As parents do
As scientist do
As priests do
grieving, grieving
grieving change

Life goes on
we pray:

"Oh, Child!
Oh, Alchemist!
desperate with her toys;
transmute our heart
...to gold
Oh Father, Oh chemical, joy...
destroy Cupid's bow!
little boy's arrow, pointing in flames
past the clock-face-soul
endless names
endless arrow
amen."

... Nietzsche begins
(concerning his own guinea-pig dead)
'what if the truth were a woman?'
that damn madman
Philosophers are:
mad, insane, alone in the dark.

The question—
undressing our hearts
our fearful stars
on endless charts
the Democrats
Republicans
socialites—
them too
(all priests—take heed)
sharks all!
...they come for you.
with an answer from an arrows rod
it flys to pierce the heart of God.

Christians, Muslim
Hindu, Jew
—Half a century I searched for you.
And what of truth...

Nietzsche you madman
he's asking
where does the question stand?
From where does it bare forth
There is your answer.
written in sand...
Oh, Child,
there is your choice.

If Life goes on
sing...
(not with the thought
but with your voice!)

"Ask not, for we are all mad.
madly in love. Bewildered and sweet!
We watch the moon
cross over the deep
Our daughters we tuck with blankets to dream
we pray to the Lord
—the guinea-pig king
We dig it a grave
beside an o'l tree
make it a bed
in old towels and dead leaves
"You tickled my cheek 'Cookie'—My heart and my knees.'"
Dust to dust
mad Nietzsche
ash to ash
Hercules
Goodnight Oh, Sagitta
pointing 'off-there'
Off to the deep!
Ask not, for we are all mad.
so, now we will sleep."

Oh, child,
you ask: do I know
do I know why and where the guinea-pigs go?
I think to the moon
with the clock-face-soul.

R.I.P Cookie, we'll miss you

image 1 - Cookie | image 2 moon

I'm a writer, musician artist based in Dallas, TX. Thanks for following @ezravan