A clanging of gears, longing of gong
But the song of the whales,
Sirians too
And an old shortwave that received
Static from deep in space
Where frequencies are far more malleable
Than they seem to be here
Where life goes in stages, graduation days
Like partitions in between, not a steady state
Of easy flowing to and fro
Between amorphous time, ambiguous space.
That slide is a call
Through a resonant channel
That hums with the body entire,
A million beads of you included,
To know you are protected
By your very being
That extends in love from every part of you;
That's why they call it a tree,
Roots within, expansion without
For as far as it goes, as far as
Your stretching soul chooses
To reach to the light
Or not. Hell, we wouldn't even be on Earth
Face it if we didn't have a dark addiction
To learning, for the black stuff,
Which, of course, is nothing at all.
Though the lap steel
Threading its way through the living
Electricity lines, commences its moan,
How it begs to differ.
