Read This by John Grey

When I read Blake

or the Book of Revelation

I imagine knocking

on door after door

in the mysterious offices of oblivion

or my father

and his eyes

cold as sleet

or his hand around the bottle,

that surge of buried anger

rising red ...

the main card has been announced:

man and his God,

a brittle boy against

a brute of an old man ...

it's either I'm already dead

or I don't want to live ...

then I dip into Mark Twain

or Thoreau

and life gets in such good licks

that the world can't get enough of it

and I'm on my father's shoulders

at the brass and rainbow parade

or down at the old marina

casting fishing lines off the jetty ...

and then I turn to Kafka

and you know where that leads

or don't know as the case may be

or Dickens

and God has abandoned us,

my father and I huddle together

in the dark and dingy poorhouse

nibbling on month-old bread.

Religion and family,

philosophy and love ...

nothing is safe from turning the pages.

I tell myself I should stay out of books.

Or better yet, they should stay out of me.

Author bio: 

John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Sanskrit and the science fiction anthology, “Futuredaze” with work upcoming in Clackamas Literary Review, New Orphic Review and Nerve Cowboy.