Ti

The diamond cutting blade dulled. Oh, what can be divided? Oh, nothing. The poet friends are now palms swaying in distorted winds. To sit with pen paused is against the nature of his craft, so I will no longer wait, to say, to speak the internal. Hold that pen thought to my ear and listen! You are not to be remembered as a fictitious legend with no faults. No! The faults are the balance we often speak of, between holy and unholy. The butter on the dinner dish that has melted into a fatty river. There you are! The silence, disturbing and pleasant. The expectations dwindling in this moment of embrace. Come to me, visit, judge and don’t judge. For all is ok, spawns. So now I say what I said hours ago to my brothers: Bring forth the pregnant eternal time and place the meal on our tables, the saliva drip of hungry mind wants to be fed, regardless of substance, knowing nothing of previously meditated portions. Consume the heart of it all, the vitality of the written word and judge it only as what happens in the flash of brilliance.

A moment delivered

To be present at the birth of a tantalizing tickle inwardly unseen. My dear birth of education, a holy experience of wordless utterance, Breath heavy! Motherly sea, great mother with canal, to bring forth and dump on the shore, Wet, what cannot be described, what finger cannot point out or be seen in the shuffle. Brothers of the ages, what sits on the curve of your lips? You cannot say! It is new! Paradise, bring forth what a paradise that one only imagines with what has already been seen. Of Earth only. Of Earth only. Familiar amniotic floating never to be known again in conscious plunders and wonders. Oh mothers, great mothers, be present at the great…what? We are here! Embracing with soft palms, relaxed shoulders, the delivery of anarchy, The delivery of the pathless, the guidance of nowhere. A new! A new! A new! Moments of new, Produce!

That which is never unveiled

I want to see it opened, unveiled.
That hidden light undefined.
I feel the presence of the mystery.
Know the clues reside in darkened places.
Like insects beneath the rocks.

As ready as I have ever been,
To be introduced.
In the shade chilled and picking my nails.
Awaiting the first warm dance upon my skin,
So that the tiny hairs become translucent.

What then,
with my feet out in front of me,
Instead of beneath me,
Can be done to agitate this birth?
I do not know.

It is Nameless.
It is sensed but has never been discovered,
Only imagined,
It can at best be known to me,
As a different shade.

Already experienced!
The explorer that imagines the sands,
From unseen lands,
As blue like the waves,
And waves tan like the grit of the sands.

When I look through past life,
Thumbing the deepest seam of those pockets,
I find only the lint of waiting,
Of hoping.
Perhaps, that is all there is.