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Saturday, July 4, 2009

for me

for me

 

sleep does not come easy on days like this

there is a buzz from beyond all the blather

yearning has laryngitis 

no speech came from there for the ears

 

the scale of being has been altered

a Pilates of the soul is now winding down

the space of vacancy . . . does now empty

a migration of awareness goes unencumbered

if I am wearing a nametag it is made of amnesia

amelioration is a perfume of breath returning

a pile of crutches burning brightly with vroom

a timeline becomes a doodle from boredom

 

the ears have experienced a flash flood directly

I am searching in a world of mirrors for a seam

there exists a zoo of expectations to visit

I am the shrink-wrap of observation’s cast

 

we are all beads of water returning home

some if by sky, some by a toast, some by tears

we will all cross waterways as the river then

we will all journey the skies as clouds then

we will all be beckoned by pathos as tears then

we will all pool then stream then ocean

and eventually surface into spray

today is a spray day

a trickle down evaporative slosh of a day

and all stages eventually on display

there is a stain and there is a sheen

there are residues and there is spotlessly clean

where I have audience now

I am withheld

saved for a later wash of being . . .

to thaw from the fire

to spring from the downed

to grasp from the inside out

the null of all things into one

 

there are crickets in the choir from within

their song is muffled by reeds of logic

their numbers are a sheer of overwhelm

they are crops of rest forthcoming

 

may you find yourself sunup to what I have said

while I now search in sundown’s cover

all these things are made of whirl

and feather-like when put to words’ adhesion

 

I surrender the words

and return to feelings

sleep does not come forth easy . . .

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