Friday, August 26, 2011

Water Mountain

Celestial snake, beamed and blind boa
curled. Sleeping.
Patience. Pants. Patience.
Holding to your unfurrowed, softly round
brow. Planetary shaped,
like Jupiter
like seeds.

Bags piled in the backseat canvas.
Places to compile. Places to unwind.
Unwound and unbalanced heart.
What is balance but emptiness?
What is emptiness but love?
Unbound balanced heart, hither-oh,
I come to you, between two night trees.
We laugh, the two laugh at the one.
And I recollect this sickness
that encumbers my belly like a pack of heavy timber

of fire, for your chaotic step,
after I break for you my drum.
We are a night walk
up a mountain
and exchange a furlong submarine.
Patience. Pants. Submerged
and forlorn
you are my fawn. Patience. For the sun.
I weave into your night garden.
With night blossoms
and night bed.
I am breath, waiting
heavy, unbalanced
for night-cut-peaches
and night-cut-sun.
Broadcasting, undersea, screaming transistor,
telepathic dolphins
sing a clear song of despair
of their water-wombs
shut out from the light.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Negative Space

Who I am now
Who am I now
talking about the man who once talked.
And in speaking spoke with
great gratitude.
Who am
Who aren't is who am I now.
Who I am will not be
the incantation spoken
nor the reverberation in his throat.
Who is the melody of energy
that is the asphyxiation of
you and me.
Who is the puzzle of bodies
transfixed on questions of ontology.
Who is speaking spoke with
arms of legs of signifier's closed eyes.
Who is the melody body.
Transfixed with ontology
who is speaking spoke
with reverberation in his throat.
Who is the soothsayer, the soothsayer who I am.
Namer of all incantations.
Who is a pear.


Permission to be lucid:
(ok, go).
Deeply, deeply
we transition
ice barriers, an iceberg
deeply, deeply
the body drifts, we go.
(a body at rest beaming bright white lights
of the forever nothing we all already are, or
have always become).
Upon arriving we saddle
and grind until one or the other
is made uncomfortable.
The corners of the room are contrived
and pink.
The more intimately I look
for them the less apparent they are.
Our hands of two, wash away
into the air, formless
I use them to hold things
though we both know
they aren't there.
Really there is only one of us
and we are headless.
Lampshade, lampshade
the lighting doesn't flicker
or vary
in the land of eternal dusk.
You are my twilight lover,
my one and only, my intertwined synapse.
Permission to be lucid:
(ok, go).
Doorway, doorway
we have floated through
another doorway
another time that looks like real time
(but it is always real time once you acknowledge
the perpetual dreamstate of all of mankind).
My spirit body enters this room
to heal my spirit organs
which look like real organs
and are real organs
now that I acknowledge the perpetual suffering
of all of mankind.
I am in the cathedral of all dreamers
and here, a man
long and winding
takes me up a grand crystal staircase
into a hallway
that everyone has been to before.
I have no hands because
they are falling apart.
Permission to be lucid:
(ok, go).