The Rainbow Crystalline Silence

February 5, 2010

The rainbow crystalline silence
that summons thoughts to declare
multiple bankruptcies between
one worth-note and its other half,

Lavender colors of make-believe
and turquoise sand being poured
around the silver leaf note
scrolled in a bottle made of ice
and set adrift on a Caribbean
ethereal wish list…

That cantilevered statue
swaying in a constant hurricane gust;
the redundantly stripped bolts
sighing to the cracking concrete
to simply let go of the marine-green rebar
and become material for Wall.
Then, there, the monumental hand reaching
for a sword that was taken one evening by
a little boy and his familiar named Hacksaw.
Soft bronze filaments lay asleep upon his eyebrows,
in between the terminatingless rails of his corduroy
pants and folded back,
salt stained shirt sleeves,
his perfect child fingernails
and scarless palms.

A harvest moon,
barrels of autumn tree-coins loving back
from green to fiery orange,
yellow and red earth-to-be-loam…

The smile of a room full of children
looking at the same thing peering at itself
and near to dimple quivering laughter…

The silence that summons Return
to look back through a rounded telescope
and wonder where such eyes came from?

The dissonance between having just
been ‘there’ forever and the realization
that ‘now’ is neither then, now or later;
and that Mind
must have a table under its plate
so to use a knife and fork
to sever, scoop and taste Time and Space.

An orange breath issuing out
from an exhausted Adam & Eve-apple,
storybooks with gold pinwheel kits inside,
plastic diamonds stored deep beneath
the breath of Looking Like and Weighing Not,
coral hands reaching, reaching,
reaching into the boundarylessnesses
of Green Ocean.

Envelopes made of grazing,
time to time yawning leopards,
snake skins sliding off their musculatures
and loving one another
as windsocks for a day.

The marching down
of a streamlet of gutterless rain,
how it encapsulates road dust
and somewhat disappears its
having had pure hymns,
into a new holy river of mud,
as this liquid confession hurries
to make up for found time.

The love treasured
for being a mysterious X
someplace on the surface of risky,
new and exotic. Earth whispering across
gold perfections and copper tarnish
four thousand two years old.
Lapis lazuli eyelids rolled back and
immortal ivory pulsing revealed…
Fire licking the lock and hinges
to ooze open,
Water dripping to cool the focus
before it fuses what’s not meant
to meet that close forever,
Air entreating cotton candy birth
to imitate whirling dervishes
and Ether bending Place and Second
to wait just that much longer
for the explorer to discover
the love treasured for being
a mysterious X.

Satin curtains glowing
with someone’s breathless awe,
and laying folded ever so neatly
on a crocoite table,
gently weighed down
on all four corners
by tiny specimens of mimetite.

The power in loosing power,
the correct sentences
impaired by fluid singing,
the perfect color
touched by new-moon-all-hue,
the freedom in choice
and Choice’s freedom in seeing ahead
of itself being ridden by eternity-evolving
beings of light and love…

Then there’s those rose quartz pillows
that give way to galactic relentlessnesses
laying down not for keeps,
keepsakes or sake,
rather,
the eye opens at God’s horizon line,
eyelashes are his temple-multitude arches,
the lids, his begging bowls
filled with the only kind of jewel
the soul grows less fond of
comparing diamonds to.

Love the softness between the open and
nearly closed door,
love the softness of those numbnesses
between the open
and closed for the evening love makers,
love the energy
that it takes to become exhausted,
love the surroundings who’ll disappear
willingly someday while the soul keeps
drinking, eating God’s paints like
avocados, salts and olive oils…