The climax of Robert Bresson’s “Au Hasard, Balthazar”
Like that pickpocket
In the Bresson film
Not no cheap hustler
Just seeking a thrill
In a world-space of cheap perfume
And over-priced apartments reaching for the moon,
I need a cleaning,
I need a fix
I need to meet
My exorcist
Bench-press the Google creeps
Hop inside no more make-believe
He said “You want some He-ron”
I said “I love Gil Scott”
He said “Look here my sagga boy brother,
I’m talking about rocking the horse
Not your mind —
speak to me
speak to me
speak to me
clear.”
Tomorrow’s the verdict
But there’s nothing to fear
The Black Jacobins
The white ant-hill
The yellow tear drops
The purple pill
Will speak to me
speak to me
speak to me
clear
There’s a lie I will lay down
A burden I’ll bury
A vision I’ll muster
With no more fury
No more pain
No more torture
No more night sweat
No more day-sighs
A shoe with an old sole
That’s burnt out and died
I’ll find my son
And apologize
His patron saint will speak to me
speak to me
speak to me
clear —
In the prison of static
The mayhem alive
He’ll trade my convictions
With penance
And I’ll learn to stand
If not walk
like a man
Who
At least
Had potential.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” the saint said,
“But make yourself available,
Make yourself small.
With the sewage rising from Astoria, over the bridge
And stuck at the plaza —
The straphangers will give themselves up,
They’ll give themselves up,
Loyalty
Exit
Voice
Like that Donkey
In the Bresson film
I want to lay my burden down
In a Shepherd field
I’ll die
While your sins take flight
And all the horror I placed around your head
Will subside
Forgive me, dear boy,
And speak to me
speak to me
speak to me
clear
(it’s okay, son, you can mumble.
I’ll be right here.)
Dennis Leroy Kangalee 