-a journey between the two eyes of man-

I’m searching for Bach;

the one and only Bach

even among the Bachs,

scrolling down from the top

reading left to right across

the spines of the jewel cases

the way god intended,

and hovering above Bach

there’s only space, space

like heaven, an empty space

unoccupied but for squatters,

the dead priests, who’re

left to themselves,

to abuse themselves

by their own sour hands..

–– but I digress.

I’m searching for Bach,

anticipating the opening “Kyrie”

of the “Messe in h-moll”––

and I'll crank that sucker out full-blast,

loud enough to shake-up

the sensibilities of nosey neighbors, whilst

eating two scrambled eggs

with coffee chaser;

one hand for the plate, the other hand to fork,–– but

Bach’s impatient;

Bach wants me to hurry-up because

he says he wants the world to know

the righteousness of his opinion, and

the importance of his calling, and

what?  so I don’t?