Constantly Risking Absurdity
by Alex Vig

Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of the day
performing entrachats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence

Risking Himself
by Alex Vig
Inspired by "Constantly Risking Absurdity"

Risking himself
to give himself away
Around every corner lurks death
and through every trap-door lies insanity
Walking on a thin wire for his life
One false move and all is gone
Risking himself is what he lives for
risking himself is what he will die for.
Before him
the Sword of Justice
behind him blackness
Shifting his weight
will place him out of the Game
yet too cautious and he’s out again
Like a Master of Shadows he must be
like a chameleon
invisible but not quite
waiting for a young boy to find him
and place him in a cage
So he continues to walk the rope of life
with the black death waiting below
He weaves his own thread
until his true identity is revealed
Like a mid-evil witch
he must wait until
he is knocked off the rope
and faces an infinite pit
His thread has ended
the Rope of Life goes taut
The Pit of Death
the seemingly endless hole
is filled with another scream
And he is knocked out of existence
into another life

Sometime During Eternity
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Sometime during eternity
some guys show up
and one of them
who shows up real late
is a kind of carpenter
from some square-type place
like Galilee
and he starts wailing
and claiming he is hip
to who made heaven
and earth
and that the cat
who really laid it on us
is his Dad

And moreover
he adds
It's all writ down
on some scroll-type parchments
which some henchmen
leave lying around the Dead Sea somewhere
a long time ago
and which you won't even find
for a coupla thousand years or so
or at least for
nineteen hundred and forty-seven
of them
to be exact
and even then
nobody really believes them
or me
for that matter

You're hot
they tell him

And they cool him

They stretch him on the Tree to cool
And everybody after that
is always making models
of this Tree
with Him hung up
and always crooning His name
and calling Him to come down
and sit in
on their combo
as if he is THE king cat
who's got to blow
or they can't quite make it

Only he don't come down
from His Tree

Him just hang there
on His Tree
looking real Petered out
and real cool
and also
according to a roundup
of late world news
from the usual unreliable sources
real dead

Sometime During My Short Life
by Alex Vig
Inspired by "Sometime During Eternity"

Sometime during my short life,
I meet a party,
on a quest
for a long lost father,
a long lost sword.

The leader
thinks he is a prince of the world,
from a place called Camelot,
he starts crying and crying,
and then breaks
into a veritable rage,
and then an everlasting happiness,
my father will set us free,
and then he claims that he can prove it,
and the party nod their head’s
in agreement,
he claims to have it in soul,
and the others nod again,
he claims he is like a cat
stuck high on a branch,
and he must get back to his father,
then he seems to drift away
into himself,
back to his father,
and his fate.

His eye roll
with newfound thunder
and he staggers a step

The men rush in, to help the son

He keeps calling to his father,
and his eyes roll misty,
so we dig a grave,
and all the while,
the ants are waiting,
the snakes hissing their warning,
so we lower him in,
and he starts shouting,
to be covered up.

But he never arises
from his grave.

As  we cover it up
we find a sword
in his hand
and as we touch it
it crumbles,
as easily as a knife slicing soft butter.

So there he lies
looking elated
his life drained
sword in hand
father in mind.