Clarity grasps at the mask of madness.
Dares to stare out through it,
as if for the same ordinary visual frame.
This brain, as it is, peddles judgment
like a soup stock on a cold day,
hurls 'insinuindos' down the spine
and yet is bunkered in from up there
with the stance of bafflement,
while this body is a thick fog
so sweet, it is as a drink
always accompinied with a song.
There is so much enormity,
and so little cognition to all of this.
Familiarity appears like background drapes.
Now is in wonder's floaty bind.
There is a ripeness,
it hangs the air in stillness,
talks back with penetrating waves
that kiss tall babies on the cheeks.
It gestures as slowly as live coral.
All senses contributing
are chanting in contemplative tongues to now,
this presence on the mind . . .
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