I have room to breath —
my ribs can’t catch the edge
of this expanding universe,
and, so, I suppose the cage is irrelevant.
I can reach an arm as far as my shoulder allows —
as long as my hand slips through the slats.
With eyes shut, and cage in sway,
I’ve no reason to feel I’m in any particular place.
Some shake in fear that all will disappear —
from bone to soul — that all will disappear.
They hug it close, squeezing it so tightly
as to thwart the time when all disappears.
But that binding pressure only heightens
the dire urge to struggle to disappear.
Though nothing ever really vanishes,
but fades to the moment it disappears.
The secret is to be with each moment
in that slow fade, ’til it all disappears.
A mirrored world sprawls out beyond the glass.
I sit in reflection — a reflection
of a totem topped with an angry face —
a face so fierce its eyes will fry your mind.
The feeling fades, and I find I’ve crossed back.
Socrates shook people with pointed questions.
How unloved one becomes trying to awaken
those snuggly ensconced in dreams of delusion.
Admitting one’s ignorance doesn’t soften the blow
of cluing others into their own.
Star-spiked silhouette of feathered palm
stamped against an orange evening sky.
It’s fireworks in reverse,
but with a little hang time —
but only a little.
Soon the sun will hide
behind the world —
leaving the tree to play
the role of a hole
in a patch of stars.
End of the wall —
End of the world?
Who can say what lies
beyond one’s line
of sight?
If you tell me,
“Thar be Dragons!”
in that sad, gray mist —
I can’t well argue the point,
but it doesn’t mean I won’t keep an ear open for wing flaps, and my skin tuned to flashes of heat.
This morning, walking, I saw a new door.
I’ve walked that stretch a million times, or more,
and that door has never been there before.
You probably think they just cut the ivy,
or that my imagination ‘s lively.
But, this evening, that door was no more.
waves crash upon the tetrapods
geysers squirt random whack-a-mole
guess the jet with no better odds
than one over the sum on whole
the chaos wave won’t chase the past,
but finds its line so mean and fast
that one can only speculate
Waking up — but uncertain from what…
-awaking from sleep?
-awaking from wakefulness?
-awaking from life?
-awaking from death?
All one knows is that a threshold has been overstepped.
Something inside feels new.
Something else feels ancient.
But nothing feels the same.
The moment when you’re everything
and are, at once, nothing.
Time exists, but is lost to you —
no lagging, nor rushing.
Space is the world that expands and
collapses with each breath —
the infinity through which you
stretch beyond life and death.
And in quiet moments of mind,
when no voices call out,
it becomes still enough to feel
something within you sprout.
