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September 22, 2017 | | Comments 0

Underneath

September 22, 2017

Underneath the quick temptation of making sense
of ‘it all’ is all-of-you conjure-kissing the Great Mirror
named ‘nature’ to keep ‘the yearning’ inside company,

This companionship is neither treacherous or peaceful,
it’s what it finds upon your person as it quakes and
rocks you to sleep that haunts the doomsday preachers
and comforts the aloof in waving Danger back down,
into The Well of Make-believe and interpretations,
satisfied that ‘just another day’, ‘we got the year wrong’
and ‘Jesus changed his mind’ suffice, being really wrong
cannot do Hope any redemptive favors or brighten a
righteous heart into being satisfied with sitting still with
Nothing…

Quiet green, unmoved shores, bright orange-striped
crabs and lairs of warm Spanish moss,
Wide eyed Dream slipping off its gown of Life & Death,
vulture eyes covering the back-half of an Angel of Birth,
infant eyes its front,
A shield of flaming snowflakes and a nest of doves as
its crown, Peace resounding and candlelight mortuaries
turned perfume factories and destination wedding venues,

Chirps, the reconstruction of music long forgotten, a
Sufi wanderer kneeling at a fallen camel’s open-air-
gravesite, kissing the withered bales of cabbage on its
decaying, saddled humps, setting an umbrella over its
heart-region, drawing cryptic designs on its hide with
an oily stick of chalk, ‘Love was here’, over and over
again, until the entire animal is bathed in compassionate
script, the howl of a devoted heart on fire with oceans
of surrender and witnessing,

The wind picks up a dandelion seed-head and scatters it
to the midnight air, Reasons and nursery rhymes fade
and co-mingle with a one-armed woman’s harmonica-
foresight-song and campfire might,
She sings to a circling owl, far, far above, while caressing
a baby dinosaur nestled in her thick dreadlock hair,
Cocoons quiver with caterpillar séances and talons
squeeze Life towards sustenance and onward flight,
She smiles, smelts a locomotive from plain air, sets
it upon onyx tracks and places her ear to the ground
so to hear her own heartbeats roaming far out beyond
her self-blown-bubble called ‘Me’, holding atmosphere
and endurance, mercy and homage to your headaches
and lovemaking…

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Filed Under: Michael

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