~~FlowingOm~~

some written words
leave me deaf
hold me mute
so that I can inhale
worlds
through the pores
of me eyes

some written words
make the worlds
fall away
so that I may travel
beyond my own story

Life waits inside us
On the precipice of a metaphor
We are everything
We are nothing

Life dances around us
We are infinite blooms of perception
(These blooms await our trampling)
Porous and fecund
Hopelessly nearsighted
yet seeing far

Life lives in volition
our action
our stillness
our quiet
our song

blood and dreaming
orchid eyes of night
fire coral caress
burning burning bright

blood and fire
adrift upon the memory
all we will be
burning burning bright

dark shadow surrender
red tears and falling
calling what has lost us
burning burning bright

blood and spire
crumbling ghosts
misbegotten scenes
burning burning bright
amputated dreams

they never told me; that the
early morning birdsong
would leave me
falling across the skin
of the mountain; dreaming
the Sun’s first breath

I discovered early
I was allergic to clowns; as they were
larger than the TV images
of childhood;
on the back of a horse
amazing feats of freedom
salve of my childhood;
I discovered too late -
after I had traded
the race through the trees
to the serene fields
of apples and books
for the phosphorescent
rebirths in back seats
of cars; the torn dress
never quite
the woundless drumfire
of blatting winged hooves
on soil
oblique disciple of steeds
I discovered too late
I was allergic to clowns



photo credit: www.tomchambersphoto.com