WAITING FOR THE SON
                                     A Poem
                                By W.C. Leadbeater

          It is hot sweating stinging dripping dry
          Dawn is approaching, a maiden Born
          & Crucified 365 times a year
          This desert is a prison
          In this heat/night I visualize Dawn

          She is a Virgin & a Whore; a Whore & a Holy One
          & I won't see Dawn's face again
          I say my final prayers to a dead God:  
          Dyes die with the things that are dyed in them

          & the One has abandoned us
          The black hole consuming everything
          The Spirit of Gravity
          Eater of corpses--
          annihilation 
          A 1D totality that shoots Substance 3D

          The Void is a devourer of decaying cadavers
          & whatever it eats, it hates  
          All-encompassing pressure:  
          Cold night-sin

          A corroder of empty shells, a shell itself
          Motherless Motherfucker Bastard youths from a test-tube
          We share an esper link in the face of Tragedy & the Trinity
          & empathy in the face of Comedy

          But what to do about the Tragicosmic?  Or the Cosmicomic?
          Laugh at the Quaternity:  Father, Son, Spirit, & Mary
          He loved Her more than all the Others 
          & kissed her on the mouth often

          There is Know Salvation from Without
          Like dyes in the vat, even God dies 
          Black Whole--Night-seed--Blind greed

          Baptism of the Spirit which liberates us from the Cosmos
          Is it real in the face of Twilight-Infamy?

          But at the last minute a rescue craft spots us
          Silver in the mourning sun
          & I will see Dawn again
          & not Dye

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