There Is No Where To Go

February 28, 2010

There is no where to go,
the heartbeat in the middle needs no
beliefs in Up and Down.

The weightlessness
in the color pink,
a yellow octopus
holding Atlantis-jade flutes.

Snow is piling up outside.
A cabin, close up,
bumblebees can be heard
burrowing further into the cedar
channels of nest love.

Pathways covered in morning love,
trees look the same and are not.

The weightlessness of not waiting,
the holy scepter broken in half
and a baby standing on top;
birth first, death first,
symbols cannot step beyond
looking like fruit.

Breathing depths beyond touching
anything called seafloor…

Depth is an approximation
of where Love’s silt has yet
to wear further.

Breathing depths beyond lungs,
or any gilled kindred,
letting out legions of sea turtles.

New wings,
old flight patterns,
newer landings and seeds
sprouting in Horus’s still stillest beak.

Burning maps,
burning bones,
burning style,
burning reward, light and darkness,
burning the On and Off,
burning the context of fuel,
burning Om, prayer, with and without;
flaming hearts stored in the ten fingertips,
their tongues sticking out,
glowing order,
glowing love goddesses,
glowing lowering owing into the Sea of Awe.

The lion pulling a thorn from a mouse’s paw,
empty bottles full of air,
already read newspapers,

And the heart’s landing gears
are being fabricated in flight.

Hummingbirds’ twilight candles,
rainbow wick,
emerald wax,
diamond light,
gold holder,
invisible reader
and the sound of one
migrating goose passing over.

Iridescent bears,
nothing putrid upon this planet,
all glows with soft red love light,
no pitchforks,
no halos,
no clocks and no opinions.

Iridescent bears eating white sand honey.

The ‘I am’ disappeared,
a period at the end of a sentence turns into
a tree stump that’s six feet across,
an old woman blinks onto the scene,
‘she’ is a dimensional traveler wearing
the human-costume of a retired librarian…

She digs out the middle
of this picnic ‘table’
and deposits 145 robin eggs…

Orange napkins float in the breeze,
an exhale, desire, ambition, reason,
intuition, failure and success, all are
new tumbleweeds who sweep as they
leave a trail of dust behind them.

The dust settles,
an inhale,
the single heart beating,
the world heart pulse sounding,
connective,
all hearts are beating simultaneously,
hear, feel the praying mantis drumming,
hear, feel the snail shell drumming,
hear, feel the earthworm drumming.