the Depths of the Path

Sometimes I think of little lifeforms that live in our lungs, worshipping the trachea like a moon goddess responsible for bringing the tide of air that caresses them with affection, doting upon them the sweet caressing devotions of life.

 

Reaches.

 

Just out of the reach of the oak-lined darkness I walk, wishing I knew another language.

The wind.

 

With a note to myself from the past: “There is more to life than ejaculation”

 

But not really, if you’re the ejaculation in progress.  All is.  And all shall be, here and now.  Me.

Yes.

 

Did you ever notice how much of the world is calculable and tangible people, occupying actual physical space, and using empty words to talk about the darknesses of what they do not know?

It almost balances itself out in a Grand Scheme kind of way.

Over that backward and forth we burn, dislodged— lodged— breathing— breathe out

 

“You’re going the wrong way!”

 

Falling, falling, she smiles tan and teasing and the winds don’t seem so cold when we are orbiting her and soon there is nothing but her at the center and all else is lost.

 

Nothing feels real.

 

The world’s a knot, to be carefully undone.

 

I had no idea I could eat so much in one day.  The sun slowly painting over this canvas of hours, in window-measured brush strokes of warmth.  Coming light.

 

She dived into the side room, I remember, barely invited, ecstatic and screaming in delight.  But that’s how she lives her life.  Reflexively burrowing into each possible moment.

 

I Refrain, wan, Capable and Afraid of you, not Harmless

 Now I Am but I Cannot Be. 

 

God waits to decide.  God is divided between heavens.

 

I brush my teeth and reach to wipe my reflection onto the mirror.

Write lines on water, my other hand on fire. 

Give me some ponderable burdens!

I feel nothing.  I cannot feel alone!

 

Let me know that even if I let this ship pass in the night there will be other ships.

There will be other Me's, who are no so good as me, in the night times of bright emotion.

 

Sail past saintly mountains and sail into blue harbors and sail through the mouth of the world on tides as old as the moon which Time holds like two hearts in concert and there I'll be.  Small, like a memory, brown flesh split open, in the sun, singing a song of the eternal flame that lets go of everything, let everything go, everything falling, I am, falling, I am falling, everything, go.