Out of the mouth

"for out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks."

does that mean that my heart is so full that
you only hear the few drips spilling over the rim of the cistern of my heart?
you will never taste the full swallows from the depths of my cistern.
you will miss the texture and nuance of my thoughts.
you will never be able to drink deep from the overflow of my heart.
you only get those few drips that creep over the edge of my humble cup.

Odyssey

To me it is crazy:
he sailed for ten,
and I not even two.
My odyssey began
with a siren calling me
my men waxed my ears
her song faded and fell.
The Poseidon within me
lifted the waters and
I refused the titans their due,
while I sat in this pew.
I refused to listen to their good news. They cried
for Nicaragua, Mexico, Chicago.
their cries fell silent on my waxed ears.
I refused the Amish, the Mennonite and the Jew.
Shalom! the mustache screamed, but I refused him too.
I refused Paul Baumer's rhetoric
while I sat in this pew.
They were the wind to fill my sails,
but I didn't want to open them,
I was stubborn.
The many lonely nights
on the sea,
I would light a candle
and watch the shadows
dance along the wall
of my frail wooden ship.
Athena heard my cry
and in the snow and swing
we held hands and strolled along
the pine trees on mount Olympus.
They say that she opened Zeus' mind,
well she did the same to me.
She wanted to
release my cords
that held my sails tight upon the mast.
but I didn't let her. Yet.
From snow and snot came poetry
written to the goddess
who brought bread to my lonely ship.
I met a man named Prufrock
and he taught me a lot.
"There will be time to murder and create...
and time yet for a hundred indecisions,
and for a hundred visions and revisions."
So my voyage murdered me.
My notions of moralism died
and of course, they were revised.
I realized that I would
have to murder
and create.
but like an ass, I stood stubborn still.
Prufrock left me with More.
Athena dropped another loaf of
bread from the sky
and I arrived at Utopia
where St. Augustine resides.
He confessed, confessed, and confessed some more
"The church is my mother, but she is a whore."
I didn't understand
these notions of excess and justice while
the titans tried to break my shield,
and Athena cheered them on (as she should).
With my sail slightly open,
the wind of Poseidon took her and I
to the land of mosquitoes
and trash.
There Poseidon tightened his watery grip
on my frail wooden ship.
After a titan smoked a Cuban
and I stuffed down some mangos,
we left the trashy shores.
Athena loosed those cords an inch
here and an inch there.
She prophesied of faith and failure
of racism and sexism.
She prophesied about that old whore,
our mother.
I still did not understand the confessor
but I was getting close.
Then one day,
my arms were tired from rowing on the high sea
so I loosed the cords from the sails
and Zephyr gave a burst.
my ship took off, and Athena clapped and smiled.
my poetry from snot and snow
got better. In pursuit of Mary Oliver, and Gary Snyder too.
As my sail flapped in the wind,
I began to see the lamb as my captain.
He led my ship
and gave it wind
(not from his butthole of course).
After a while,
the bags of loot from troy,
that I excused as ballast,
weighed my boat down in the treacherous waters.
I threw them overboard.
My ship sped up again
and sliced through the water.
My destination: Ithaca, my home.
I realized what St. Augustine
meant when she said
that my mother was a whore.
She sells herself
to out for moralism
and suburbia.
The titans call out for the oppressed
and the wax fell from my ears.
Athena finally opened my mind too.
But I’m still so far from home.
She holds my sails open,
now Poseidon is distracted.
Now we sail on the open sea,
at night
I fall into Kurosawa's dreams
and thank Zeus,
that Athena found my rosebud.
One day I find myself in Plato's cave
watching the shadows on the wall
wondering what it all means?