I got the pearls,
But they’re not the pearl of great price,
Or the zen of stars,
Or the transfiguration of graduated poets
Or the transubstantiation of the true golden razor blade,
Or the existentialism of wrists,
Weeping within death’s black hands
Or ascending on the power of birth’s miraculous dynamo
In the span of a single heartbeat and one solemn breath
As the polished chandelier now shattered
At thy feet glows with a billion aggravated rainbows
And the newborn and dying together sing a chorus
Not once sung before
Not thought or even mentioned,
In welcoming the ancient king dethroned, expelled and forsaken,
Now mute,

Or driven fiery nails into your worm wrung cerebrum,
Or scarred your bulging aorta
Or watered your violent garden with the rain of tears
Or eaten the forbidden fruit and regurgitated the cosmos
Or walked on broken glass like a severe penitent
Or ignored you, brandished you, hated you, loved you,
Or deny you are the sentinels of superstrings
At the gate of the ten dimensions, wandering,
Where you lift back the purple veil to reveal
The priceless gift,
And those who receive this light so pure
Spend a lifetime trying to hide it,
Or to show it to the world.

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