At the dragon boat festival
Where we're fifth-year seniored
In the brand new sun
That accepts nothing less
Than all form obliterated
And its underlying energy
Shown finally as geometry
Belled from sound, and motion
Shown to be created in our minds,
The dirt and cactus and horse poop
Frequencies for green-eyed flies
Who secretly run the inner world,
Which might as well be the whole earth
For what its iceberg surface is worth.
Their minds are so pristine,
Their love so immense and pure
Only a few are let inside,
To where the Pleiades is as close
As the codes in their crystal caves
And the moon's gravitational tyranny
Is not impossibly far away.
Things are exactly as they are here,
Except reversed.
We, for example, are upside down
And hurtling through space time
As if the impossible speed would
Make it real. The bells entrain us still,
But we call it the blues, to be savored
Once the pain has been sucked through.
The pyramids lie like batteries
Beneath the sea. The rods we see
From Atlantis are countered
By Lemurian stone circles that pull
It all back to the shiny void beneath
That turns out to be unearthly green.
All of it could have been destroyed
But it was left for us to see,
To find the clues wanted desperately
In solution's salvation, what was seen
As mere stone in the prior age, when
Life was breathing, not breath.
We got many things wrong
Back in the day, the solar winds
In purifying white say.
But there's no other planet with
The blues y'all. The veils
Are no longer walls.
Each bee is free now
To believe in any hive they want to
Or none at all. The black horse
Brays like a squeaking door.
For today, the sound of hinges
Is enough.
