Wherefore There Care?

Where care in love gets in,

Into daily to-dos and gesturing

At the junctions at cramped crossroads; bulked by rolling rows,

Of lumbering trafficks;

 

Or else in the working life, beyond relief, where battle thrives,

Impairing, and forestalling good report; and criminals

Courting displeasures of The Crown, receive her frown,

On starting sentence

 

Wherefore here love and love’s room gets in?

Indulgence as forgiveness censures, winks, abets

Allows abundant sops of supple countenance

As insufficient mentor, mediating in your shoes

Small servile sentiments

 

And where against humdrum daily cares dares love pursuviant

Follow a Master, travelling towards distinct impasse

In loss that forgets itself and takes a hit to win,

Of you a brand new person

 

When in the factory farm of life housebrick dissensions

Mention of mandatory and contraventions

And arguers hassle, like entertainers skite,

Prickling with interjections of ‘I told you I was right!’

 

When never settled words replete of sweet intention

Perform, pass off the lips, as simple service

Reassuring to repudiate an emetic hypertension

But shouts bark out calamities, the world-will’s appetites

 

When can no word announce aloud a sure continuing city

Confessed, deliberated, as that power embossed

On’s heart-beats as with seaside rock the whole way through

Against care’s looms, against taste’s autocue

 

So haggard fazes concrete temporality

So thick it curbs the air from slaking breeze,

So clogs the alveoli of a Promised Land

It chokes off calls to witness; and deceives

 

So many schools, so many trains of thought

Too many raptures of forbidden fruits besought

Caught on security cameras are the contradictions fraught.

But The Master’s veins

 

Let open shed their golden gush on blasted parking lots

Showering payloads at Merry Christmas goodwill entrepots

Overproducing like a Chinese shipyard labour force

Offering to everybody take the dead-cert Winning Shot

 

Stood in the Market Place amongst a boiling throng

Calling with bawling voice above the stallholder ding-dong

Seeking a people leafing through the smallholders’ produce;

Crying; ‘Come to me!’

 

‘Hear who has ears to hear’ he coaxes to persuade

A people impacted by a cute diurnal mess they’ve made

Shackled to buying, selling, spreading war, malaise:

Recover, pray.

 

Here is The Kingdom, the source, succour of things

Teaching, bespeaking you, the very want you lack

Hear The Creator/Maker, Paramour of Verities,

Hard at your door.

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