For Mao, On his Birthday
And there, in the dementiatic years of the 19th century
The faintest natal nascence of
the second kingdom was born
in the middle of the middle.
Poor Hong Xiuquan smiled
in his tomb
(of which there was none.
More like ashes
Dispirate, stirring).
God is funny like that,
to send his direct message through failure
to beget another,
indeed more confused,
and yet,
in contradiction, closer to enacting the truth.
Who are the “Jews” anyway?
Just by reading the newspapers
I can tell you who is chosen.
Perhaps 1966 was closer to 0
than anything else.
And 2050 will be like 33.
Whencefrom already mists the yakubian acid rain.
And the white devils are so myopically focused
on trading one umbrella for another,
they can’t even see the distant red star.
Admittedly faint, it shines brighter now
than did 100 years ago.
The way to know?
The learned astronomer can’t
(won’t?) see it.
Even if one were to frantically search
through the peer reviewed,
one wouldn’t find it.
Neither would I, though I do know where to look.
Rather, I feel it
as Christ’s radiant smile.
And so I leave the dome for
the lecture hall,
snickering.