The Exile of Ray Lahoon

Raise your hands to the
painted ceiling
worked over with stars
and orbs and spheres
and laws
Raise them as I raise mine
High up there! You down below there
Chanting the King’s goodly knell of death

Chanting, your song should wax
Your song must swell!
Sing ye’
As t’were your last:

The King
Of Firstwrought Emp’ror borne
All bones now
Has only slown

The King
From ages shorn
All rags now
Has outward flown

The King
His earthly home now
Has gone to grass
Has gone to stone

But the tower
Still stands
Ceaseless
It penetrates the air
Ceaseless
Its cellars,
Dug deep,
are filled – not bare

and we
are not alone!

Hold! Halt now
Your dirge must stop
Your song must cease
Your words must melt
into a movement
Must quake into your hands
Must needs squirm into your feet
Once dormant

Yes, lift them up so high!
Shuffle your plower’s feet against the ground
Toward the ceiling made of glass
Move them so below as I do mine
So low there! Yes shuffle them
Till the glass cracks above
And quakes with the fear of you

Your mobbish hands
All worms and bruising bands
Your mobbish feet
Aglow and now made complete

An animal
So made of men

A warrior
Is a man
Who kills ten
And takes ears
And teeth
For fetishes then

Shuffle them! Hey
As I do mine
Shuffle them! Hey
You there, stand!

And as I slide like winds
And tides
The old king dies
The old king has died
Look you two
You man and ewe!
Seest thou what you have done!
And imagine what that mob
Might now in quaking do

Split blood, bone, spit and loam
Gin bottled cracked, new blood-drunk wonders on loan
With drinking turvy, a mass of tumescence
Our cast of men and those like unto men
Those grown-up boys who shall defend
This tower against the roving
Gypsy
Hands

Ahoo

And who has dropped his task?
The men holler
The men ask.
We must goad him toward a corner
And beat him to a bruise
Till he’s black and blue
Till he’s not but a mass of wounds
The first blood drawn
We thus might prepare
For what we must next do
Out in the open air

Assassin! Hey
The assassin must be cut
In two

Hey! You! There
Did you sting your hands
Did your knuckles tear?
In dropping the rope
Did you fail? Or did you dare?

Assassin! Hey
The assassin must be cut
In two

You there! They claim foul play
Is it you
who failed to hold
Or did you dare
to slay our Lord?

Aye, sir, hold! He failed only
And did not dare
Seest thou my father’s right hand
Is a wound
Aye, sir, a drink for him
A drink would nicely do

A drink for him?
Why, let’s make it two!
Drink man, spit not
Drink this bloody tonic
Drink deep of this heady stew

Who then are you, son,
Who speaks in his defense?
And why are your hands
steady, scrapeless, without
Injury or wound or rent?
Speak, hey! You know
who asks you to

Sir, hold you please
This is my son
Our name is Lahoon
And he Ray so called
He’s one and only one
T’was I who have failed you
Thirsting, my son went to drink
From the fount there behind that shroud
From that there drank he
From that dripping sink
T’was I permitted him to
T’was I who lost my grip
And losing
Who failed the King and you

That sink is forbidden
It is meant for the King
You know this thing
I know you know this, Lahoon
And your son
Needs must know too

Sir, I know, but my son’s thirst
Was wild, intemperate
And his will, from thirst,
Broke through
I did not know I’d drop the rope
Did not know his grip would loose

Tis’ true, cries the son of Lahoon
Tis’ I who thirsted
I who drank
And I who owe the due
Tis’ I whose will was moved
Bright with flaming youth
Tis’ I who drank
From the King’s granite fount
from that rare well and sluice

and now tis’ I who see the gems
bright-blue, burning things
in the air
and around you all
they cruise

This is surely the sight of the King
spoken of in song and poem
I see beyond the shroud
Around you all are clouds
Haloes, sparks and growls
Haloes, sparks and growls

So hold you your vitriol!
The viols no longer sound…
And no beat is here,
Except the shuffle
Of worried feet on ground
Hold you all your violence but a time!
Let me wrap my father’s hands
Here, we’ll bandage them
And hide the bones from the air
The blood will stop to flow
And the sting cease to tear

Touching, yes, touching so
You drank the water, and so drinking
You did sew
The demise of our King’s good life
Your sight and your neglect are one
‘Tis true! One of you owes a due
Lifeblood, sanguine abuse
Needs must we take from you

Oh the wonder of a moving mob
The crease and fold of lives on hold
Enmeshed, woven into a deathly quilt
Beauteous, absent, and free
From guilt

But hold!
Hear you all
I am the King’s second
And while I am no king
I know of the King’s wise sight
You know you all of my well meaning
And I trust you trust me too
That I mean to do what’s right

We do! shout they
We do; we know; we see!

And I say here of this man and son
The man has paid a due
For his stupid laxity and his failure
to do what he ought to do
See here, a finger, torn raw red from the bone
And here, a second
These hold power
These are true – the long one, and its partner
Blood drained and turning blue
Here one, here two
And a ring
Here, Man
Here take your simple ring!
From this flesh now rent from you

The fingers your son will keep
Here, Ray Lahoon, is one
Here, Ray Lahoon, are two

You say you owe the due
The due is death!
This much is true
And what method then?

Listen, I will judge
And make the most of him
For the mass of you

Read the Lyric from the Beginning