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June 26, 2017 | | Comments 0

Some Call It A Secret

June 26, 2017

Some call it a secret, I’ve heard it termed ‘a whisper
piloting an earthquake’,
Regardless, how Love resides inside a polar ice cap
and within a volcano’s heartbeat, simultaneously, could
only mean that it’s the main ingredient in everything…

You cried yourself asleep last night,
You awoke in the morning to notes on your front and
back doors and thirty-four messages in your voicemail
-box from ‘the neighbors’, plus a civil-warning taped on
your mailbox that read ~ ‘You are hereby requested to
surrender your bullhorn and cease hysterically laughing
outside the confounds of your home from between the
hours of 10PM and 8AM’,

It’s September, you roll over and find the panda bear that
the Los Angeles zoo has been looking for since February,
asleep on your pillow, but you live in Maine,
How to keep this moment steady, but not insult Forever?
How to dive deepest and still remember the implications
of that surface-reflection of Above’s séance?

You leaned into me hard, I felt your breath saturate my
expectations with golden dragon ease, I understood how
liquid summons evaporation by its very essence of being
the gowns of spirit waterfalls, rivers, oceans, lakes and
droplets across the forehead of Vulcan’s honeymoon Eve,
I’ve been your brick wall and free-for-all, bankruptcy and
winning lotto ticket, pothole and speed bump, electric
guitarist and mime,

Whatever you wished for, I became,
I’ve ironed out your balled up love notes and crumpled
your perfections,
I’ve stood on the edge of the world, adding more and
more, so your soul knows no end in sight,
I fashioned Pandora’s consciousness, forget ‘that box’,
it’s a distraction of myth and fascination, the real stuff
is naked and vulnerable, embroidered on the surface of
the hands holding its fabulousnesses,

You don’t believe in fairies but give alms to their close
cousins, the angels,
You thought the world was ending while you were still
curled like a nautilus in the womb of wombs, pre-mother,
pre-earthen, pre-solar systems and pre-Space,
You’re convinced the panda is a hallucination, but cannot
reconcile the 500 pounds of refrigerated eucalyptus leaves
in your garage,
You return upstairs to find it still asleep and come to
understand that it’s been on a long journey to you,
You suddenly receive a flash-memory and dart up the
attic stairs, yet you live in a yurt, no matter, the trunk is
there and you open it to find your favorite childhood book,
‘Dinner At The Panda Palace’,

It’s all coming back to you, as the dust of Reality’s exhale
settles across a field of blooming lungs,
The magenta hidden behind your business-minded brown
eyes is leaking out and a circus representative is hunting
down your address,
You pack your bags, with a softly waking panda in tow,
drop the sand bags from around the balloon’s basket and
sail upwards and across vast jasmine valleys and lilac meadows,
Not just any eucalyptus forest will do, you understand now,
it will be marked by two suns, three moons and a gateless
gateway gleaming with warmth, satiation and smiling
rainbow lips…

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