I, naive
I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain
Thought those rays of sun weren't burning
I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now
Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things
No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves
When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--
The lowly philosopher-king
Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life
Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night
And every other Friday night
Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"
Slowed down for full potential
Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this
Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling
"Love, how much I'd love to be. "
