I want for

I want for . . .

‘where sorrow has no meaning’

is opened and exposed.

Where without considerations

‘what exhumes out of me’

goes out as a spirited claim.

I want for my words

to be meaningless

unless your soul hears

into what I am saying.

Words, like bird flocks

forewarning an oncoming

of destiny’s avalanche.

Words,

like the first apparent stage

of a metamorphosis

that slowly transforms

the showers of meaning

that were falling wastefully

onto what had grounded me

fully until then.

I want for those sounds

deep-rooted beneath the words

to outlive the meanings implied.

For the birds to die

their songbird deaths

and the melody to be taken up

by the breeze and trees

as soul heat rising.

I want for sorrow

to leave its wardrobe

of unmet expectations

and situational disappointments.

For deep dearth yet unknown

to be razor to the seam

that gets me there.

I want for all the rules

of deep soul life on display,

common to all

as a first order

of exchange and response.

No more hideouts

of complaint or duplicity,

no more presumed insulation

or collective denial,

no more consensual entitlement

or positional agreement.

I want for the sweet slime of being

to ooze and pour.

For the acrobats

of intention and love

to perform center stage

within all of us.

I want to disrobe of my innards

that seek safety or calm

as my role

of self-guardianship possessed.

Let us all be the freefall

and let sacred gravity applaud us

by holding us back!

As long as our lives have audience

may they not be seated

and sojourned.

What dance does not make do

with what rhythms

expose of them?

I want for the beat

and the space between,

for evocative as permission,

jubilant as release,

ecstasy without the burden

of experience,

timelessness consuming,

depiction’s death,

sorrow as the sunrise

of burning bliss

and bygones . . . to be gone . . .