Her kisses were moonshine
and bullets, three shots
to the heart, like a rose
on the canvas of morning,
like art, an eyelash on a poem
that always makes me pause,
three xs at the bottom of a page.

It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane

The secrets of the  universe can wait --
The moon in the window is material.
There can be no persuading the Muses to explain …
To an oyster -- its pearl is a masterpiece.


A butterfly may alight on you --
Whispering secrets of forbidden knowledge
As strange to you as the deserts of the moon --
Forget this -- it is enough to save a child's blink.

On The Sixth Moon's Night
I came to contemplate the cosmos.

I awoke on a mountainous range:
Projected were ten thousand isles, scattered in remain.

All dancing differently,
But constructing one eternal game.

To what extent might my eye expand?
To what end will death cast its sand?

Upon what shore may the waves crash again
In peace and calm harmony?

No matter how many curtains the Devas will draw
Or how many distinctions Māyā will make~

Always, the un-curved perfection subdues and surrenders to them all.

Like the water-way, cultivating life and harvesting it on the other side.

Formless, it surpasses all stiff form and creates a path of least resistance

To the goal of the heart.

---

You cannot carve a stone buddha out of human flesh.

A stone buddha cannot experience samadhi nor still a pond.

Mind is a mirror
that must be seen clearer!

But behind the glass and that transient social class,
What is that divine perception?

"The Ultimate Peerer"

Let it be known~
        Beyond the mere musings of tool bearing monkeys
               Lies an ineffable essence which deflects archaic labeling.
                      
This is the direct experience of non-discriminatory equalization
        Of conceived notions.
               All which may be considered good and true
                       Vaporizes in the blinding eye of this clarity.

Language is the battleground of ignorance and illiteracy
        Of what begs not be named~

fearful seconds
overbursting
minute to minute
times grind
separating signs
weeks turn to months
turn to
dreams
again last night
awakening sight
as I closed my eyes
awake in my mind
unsure of what I'd find
while pleasantly surprised
blue waves and black holes
stars that've shown color
stripping away the white
but still glowing
reflecting forgiveness