If I am
a woman of abundance
speaking fluent excess
in a time where
nothing
is denied
what do I become
when the borders
are closed
to the land
I promised myself?

Pigeonholed into
this sense of security
seeing myself
through one-half
of the monocle
--wasted tension,
then, if twice-effort
produces half-sight--
Where do I go
to find myself
when the only door
I knew
is shrouded
in second-hand screens?

I will rise-
for comfort has made
apaths of us all

I will rise-
realizing these bones
ache under the weight
of collected burdens

I will rise-
vision adjusting
as perspective changes
from lower life
to heavenward glances
too dry
too bright
too foreign to the naked eye

And yet
this simplistic wealth
contradicts itself
in losing, we hope
to gain
in leaving, we hope
to find

So I will rise-
embracing the new abundance
of having nothing
except All.

I used to watch my old neighbor
Walk 3 times a day to the edge of his yard
Hands grasped behind his back
Half tucked in white shirt
Yellowed by tobacco or maybe sweat
He’d stand there hands
Holding his own hands
And wait
Just a few minutes
Then like his grey hair
Uncut and curling
He’d wind back
To his front door

Sometimes I’d sit
And watch

You feel like someone who crosses the street when there are pages they didn’t need to see

"get better"
pictures of an exhausted illustrated sun
pulling itself up over the horizon

i wonder if the sun ever has struggles like these

You let me hunger
so that I
starve for You-
without You, die.

You let me hunger
so I know
upon my heart
You want to sow.

You let me hunger
so I feel
satisfaction
when I kneel.

You let me hunger
so I see
priceless Love
upon that tree.

You let me hunger
so I seek
Your strength when
my will is weak.

You let me hunger
so my heart
knows from it,
You'll never part.

You let me hunger
because You thirst
for me to always
love You first.

Lord, I am hungry.
Fill me up
with your Flesh-Bread
and Life-giving Cup.

Lord, I am hungry.
Let me starve.
Upon my heart
Your trademark carve.

Lord, I am hungry.
Thank you, though.
For without hunger
I'd never know
how much I filled
my life with things
that dull Your brilliance
and make kings
of worldly pleasures.
Let me crave
Your Word alone
and help me brave
this war of willpower.
Pave the way
to Your Kingdom
for there I'll stay
for all eternity
if I
let You consume me
till I die.

Slack jawed
and wilted like the bud that
bloomed too soon
hunch over into my knees
the room sweats
some sweet southern sadness -
the kind a mother makes
when she remembers
the way you used to
wrap your hole hand
around one of her fingers
and you'd smile a bit more
- my hands now cupped
so I can pour pieces
of myself out,
b r e a t h
then repeat

Slack jawed
and wilted like the one track
wonderer who has lost his thought
press my lips to the floor
when my white noise
sensitivities and speculative
perceptions become too
populated to
preserve
pour pieces,
b r e a t h
repeat.

A Verse In Time: A Trickster’s Alchemical Approach to Memory in Three Waves

(Warning: The following collection contains depictions of three waves
of the psychedelic experience—particularly with God’s allies, Los Aliados, the mushrooms—and like the psychedelic experience each wave possesses its own waves within itself.  Ride with discretion.)

.

Wave I: The Allies’ Nursery Rhyme

The Allies
came to visit
and take me
on a trip.
No need for boat
or bus
or plane
or even rocket ship.
The galaxy, as they explained
resides inside your mind,
The portals to the universe
are windows you call eyes.
Instead of always looking out
you should try to look within.
The ending you have always feared
is exactly where you begin.

Yes, all the spans of time and space
exist in you behind your face
and yet you cannot understand
that nothing is a race.

Oh wait, please be careful with that mirror
when we are here and you draw nearer.
Don’t let the face of everyone replace your face with fear.
You are Horus, Mary, Jesus Christ, Cervantes, and Shakespeare,
and all the men from beast to mice, from oceans down to tears.

And so they pried behind my face
and pushed me on through outer space
and soon enough I understood
there never was a race.

It all exists right here, right now—
the past, the future, the grass, the cow,
the vast, the nature, the cash, the house,
the king and the savior
the beast and the mouse
are all your creation,
your relation,
your spouse,
your Path,
your Bible,
your ‘Gita,
your Tao.

It is all
of your moment,
It is all
of your now.

For you are the mystery
of that which you seek.
You invented the minutes, the hours, the weeks,
the deserts, the rivers, the valleys, and peaks,
your digits, extremities, elbows, and knees.
You created the cure, you invent the disease.
The labyrinth is you and
You defeat it with ease.
To master the Minotaur just follow the string
Discover the dinosaur, discover the king,
discover this grandiose song that you sing,
and uncover the truth of the message you bring
when you ring bells or

Stroke piano keys
and make the doctor sweat.
The pranksters shifting shapes again,
it’s time to make a bet.
With silly laws of threes and fives, this riddle I repeat, replies
that by the time the rhyme is over, the trickster will arrive.
Gliding up in cycles by, the prankster grins and winks his eye.
He fabricates a fluffy fix with fuzzy snow white lies
to bring the doctor to a six then down to four inside
and bring the tempest to a wave
on which the four can ride.

Do we glide?
Do we slide?
Do we fly really high?
Do we bobble and sink
with the rise of the tide?

I remember the brink
the cellular stride, the following leap,
the primitive mind
I remember the dirt, the water, the fire,
the wind and the ether,
the passion, desire.
I remember that art
can never expire.

Do we depart?
Do we retire?

The answer is yes,
The answer is no,
The answer’s the same wherever you go.
It’s never too fast,
it’s never too slow
and you are never the last to not really know.
For the sun always shines,
the moon always glows,
the old always die,
the young always grow,
The seeds that you plant
are the trees that you sow,
from the bees and the ants
to the bulls and
black holes.

It is all
in your stance.
It is all
in your
soul,

When you follow your dance
the bliss
takes control.
Take your place
in the play
and master
your role.
The Aum
is your home
it’s inside
of your dome,
Whatever
you wonder,
Wherever
you roam.

And so it flows behind my face
the universe of time and space
Now I understand that time
is invented as the race

Yes, you are Borges, and Buddha, and Krishna,
and Lorca, and Vishnu, Dickinson, Lennon,
Eliot, Gandhi, Marley, McKenna,
Campbell, Picasso, Alpha, Omega.
You are your enemy,
your stranger,
your neighbor.
You are the peasant,
the king,
and the savior,
the mandala man,
the cosmic *******.
You are the taste
You are the flavor
and you are
the wave
the unwavering
Creator

Even us
as they explained
merely extend from you
A mirror to the macrocosm
for you to gaze into.




So when you get lost
within your lies
and cannot find
your rhyme,
Gather inside with your
Allies
and master
the maze
of
time.


Wave II: Contemplating The Allies’ Advice

Thunderbolts of cackling giggles
shutter through your vitals, shaking shoulders
and squirting tears from squinting eyes.
Exciting when dimensions hidden creep into your line of vision,
morphing mapping iridescence with a fleeting fuzzy phosphorescent
undulating elfin presence following your every contemplation.

Concentrating on a caterpillar crawling up the wall
how curious, this furry beast has fingers not to fall.
He folds into his fuzzy form, a sleeping bag to keep him warm,
a little home as still as lead.  He hibernates and contemplates,
waits and waits and transmutates into a gilded butterfly
that flutters through my head.

Violet translucent landscapes bleed through grass and trees,
focus on a precise place of time and space and witness the birth of the human race.  Projections made in fuzzy fourth dimensions quickly fade
if your gaze should wander.  Positioned to ponder,
you plunge into prepubescent wonder as a shooting star splits the sky wide open revealing heaven and everything under the sun is tune and the sun is eclipsed by the moon.  And once again, the music comments chronologically on your moments, as if all these notes and lyrics were cataloged to sync with the scenes of your epic voyage.

Destroying contemplation again, the sea ***** the wind through the trees
and blows a blue marine breeze through your hair.
Do you dare take the time to recognize the punctuality of the gale?
Should your frail and fragile mind be dangled from a line
to flap and fluff and figure out the nature of the rhyme of our mother?
You are your brother, your keeper, and your lover.

All the lines align and oscillate in cadenced flow,
the more you see with your mind the more your mind will know.  
A ****** brain may strain and throw a fit
if faced with the tricky truth of the third eye
Surprise! Who knew that Jesus Christ could sprout from cow ****?
Can you believe it?  Wow, Bob, wow.
Where do you think we got: ******* and holy cow?
Heaven is the here and now
and every time you try to leave
you lose what you have found.

(* All words in italics come from    
   various songs, films, works of        
   literature, etc. and are not the words    
  of the author.)


Wave III: Los Aliados Wake

An apple carries a story deeper than the tree,
More nourishing than the luscious skin,
More central than the seed.
for the apple gave original sin
and knowledge from within
and fell upon the head, announcing gravity.
Have you ever heard the tale of Johnny Melon seed?
(The apple is global, so I wonder why,
what could be patriotic of pie?
Is it not just a strudel,
a pastry disguised?)

The colors we create
distort. manipulate.
The fools who follow fear
are doomed to find their fate
between their ears
where the colors seem
to blend and stream
and almost disappear.
To wonder why we’re here
all colors must appear
and merge into the blinding light
that obliterates our fear.

All your dreams, your fantasies, your symbols, and beliefs,
all a compass pointing you to endless mystery.
The treasure that you seek
resides inside the Self,
A jewel within the rock,
A book upon the shelf.


I bought the ticket,
I’m taking the ride.
I’m spiraling miles through the bowels of time.
I’m spinning and laughing
and losing my mind
and finding
it always returns
just in time.
It’s right where it left me,
so I’ll leave it behind
and return when
I’m ready
to relish the ride
with a bite
from the apple
of my
holy
third
eye.

When I was eight
I would fall asleep
in the corners
of my house
often left alone
because I felt
my bed
was the reason I could not sleep
I felt
like it knew
I wasn't worthy
of the pillow
or my sheets
or the cascade of
sunbeams
that would fall on my
face in the morning
just like they do now

I would walk around the house
empty and creaking
and I would walk into the kitchen
and hold a knife
to my stomach
with my reflection
in the granite counter top
and I would wonder
why I felt
that it was often better
to die than try to
deal
with my mind numbing
nothings
and the questions
they posed

I didn't know yet
people took their lives.
That people
felt these things sometimes
they had clouds
that would hang over heads
sometimes for months
I hadn't felt a loss
but still
I knew this ride
only had a one way
track
and I wanted off

It's heavy
to feel the heat
that runs through my
blood when I'm behind
the wheel of a car
or walking over
a bridge
it's difficult
to always see
ledges without
safety fences
and concrete columns
and not really understand why
the mineral mounds
in my brain
just aren't stacked the same
as Bill
or Jane
Because I've always known
this one track train
to not have a definitive escape
just a one way ticket
and only one lane

It's heavy to always
see ledges without
safety fences
and find some calm
some comfort in
that.

It is hard to find
People
Who for small periods of
Time
Make you forget there is
Anyone else
In the world with you.

Try not to let those
People
Go.