Thursday, June 23, 2022

Rooms of the Two Lexies

The cool wind on my skin
     is a thought in another realm
At a higher turn of the illusion,
     where philosophes of wind
Posture and postulate
     about essential things ... 

                     we can feel it
Though we can't quite ride
     along as yet
Past the concrete block our souls
     seem to be flyttrapped in of late,
Forced to navigate a game whose rules
     are understood only by playing,
The only way to know
     it's a game.

The wind blows, the kind of a day
    when matter ceases
In gulps at a time, the screw 
    turned loose finally
And the density chains unlock
    to light and wind as one
For once ...

                      then the wind moves on,
Clouds over the sun
     form paintings of their experience
That decorate the solarium
     where students -- they call themselves
Teachers -- sit rapt, deal propositions
     like black hearts.