The bee has found
the weed
so the codes seed
minds
thoughts seize
forms
that live beyond
their conceiving
there’s enough of a touch
that memory is
freedom
it must be
captured as if
for the first time
the circle turns
when seen
the wheel cleaned
for the clay
for the clay
and set
always for
its seeming:
the passion of birth
the sadness of leaving
makes everything
in between
accrue meaning
The repeatings seem
in pulsings of time
unique becomings
that beckon the spiral
to climb
past what is known
what is everything
the familiar strangely
seen
seen
with always more waiting
in how we respond
our new ways to see
and feel
and say
and deal
that is the force
that grows continually
what is real
follows
the dreaming
in an inevitable
course
For the sense is contained
by the voice
within
of what appears to be
on some other side
when recognized
as a choice
somehow hidden
to learn what you
already know
again
there’s always a first time
for stars to align
and for the brightness of all things
to shine
as if destitute
in the blacknesses
of space
to privately occupy
its place
these islands we
reach
the untangled facts
the forbidden maybe
what we long ago
refused to see
the swirling of our being
in the ravages of sleep
instead
instead
the sprouts appear
one at a time
or maybe more
depending on the
feeling
needed
Noises are all around
we call them
what we know of God
a junkie on the nod
who stares at peeling
ceilings while
the ants play deadly games
as if no change
was ever needed
and the pain was for
the best
what seems
a gross injustice
to the proctors
of the test
who find no
mediation
save the conscience
and its foe
their path is torn in fire
from weary eyes
as if to somewhere
the strings to what is not
cut
cut
the urge that prods us on
unknown
as the home we
hammered
burns
and eyes so filled
with smoke and light
we don’t know how
we wounded them
yet we’d do it
all again
to lose the thing
that wasn’t the lord
everything we touched
that turned
to gold
it becomes a running from
this perverse form
of faith
these hopes that what
impels us
will be
explained
justified even
as right
though we never
had our doubts
even as the city
darkens
far behind
The light neither
beyond nor ahead
beyond nor ahead
stays with us
as if we’ve
reached
the end
even as the return diminishes
extends
away from our wishing
to transcend
the blunt mechanics
of our actions
the clear and present malice
in our minds
to love what won’t
stand still
to grab what won't
take hold
perceive what can’t
be seen and
think what can’t be known
think what can’t be known
is what’s important
our discontent is as
feverish
as our dreams
but do we need
redemption
when we’ve left the shore
behind
behind
when the foghorn of
another world
another world
starts calling?
The space between
keeps widening
until it seems
the oceans
are as limiting
as the pavement sheen
around the island's edge
The particular’s allowed
to run in a sea
of particulars
all espousing the
general order
by denying it
all enslaved
in bitter motions
to survive on
theft of blood
while the larger world
stays peaceful
underwhelmed
the wind billows
how death is
overcome
in each fresh
moment
judgments form
and lapse without
a witness ever
leaving
leaving
just the changing
hues of shoes
as sunlight
moves
The light can only reach
so far
inside
before the pit of
what is not
can no longer be
by transmuting fantasy
applied
and we are left a bundle
by transmuting fantasy
applied
and we are left a bundle
of handles
and buttons that don’t lead
to actions
the blackness of seeing
with blackness
with blackness
fathoms pulling
down
with every independent
shadow playing away
from the central sound
which is silence
all around
something’s missing
from the invitation
the RSVP is
too implied
the need for others
supersedes their
reality
for when we are
lost
in ourselves
in ourselves
we are only thinking
of others
how there’s no other
self than
what is seen
in them
as hollow and as pale
as the motion picture flickers
that stay inside of us
long after the people
have peeled away
and left you still
not alone
the thing that you
must never say
that you are not alone
(are you insane?)
all the voices somehow
realer
than the words that people
borrow
borrow
that just refuse to mean
when clarity is not
what’s needed
when inside your
separate brain
intention is known
actions are clear
all things that
one can never see
inside the eyes of
others
whether you are
right or
true or
sincere
the mystery of you
hangs like a sheer
and blows like a ghost
through the iridescent
film
of what appears
It is this that
resists the light
there is no illuminable thing
just currents
flying free
like lightning chaos
in the hold of
central sky
there’s nothing but the feeling
in the moment
nothing else
can satisfy
and all the flows
go into that
like lines of silence
move
to destinations
it all flows through
open gates
there are no walls
to obtrude
only the illusion you
connect
to what you’re
not
your sight is
so conversant
you thought your life
was otherwise
than the plying
of dimensions
like equations
on a mind
experience to solve
solutions to experience
ambiguity to salve
in endless strands
of phenomenological
popcorn
for as long
as the movie
spins
so what you create
never ends
or begins
to find and name
what once was
part of you
not to reclaim
or make
anew
but gauge your mind
as it runs along
the grooves
the spirit catches
on the nuance
hooks
for that is what
remains intact
the witness
called back
to gather
what will be kept
in holy permanence
the final report
of a journey
blind
through light
the way you learned
to know yourself
in something else:
the mind of everything
the heart the king
