The blank page
is all the rage
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Walk
Down cracked sidewalks but forget where and why the going started.
Lost in the chaos of moving feet whose unity lies in their organic flow,
Perspectives shift to some new truth: experiencing its constant displacement.

Here
As bodies carry me forward, they rush to the rhythm of those who desire our desires:
I smile and laugh at voices screaming out from billboards and TVs
“What you need is need itself! Don’t look within, but to ME!”


Drift
Down the street and pause at the window’s reflection.
Behind the still face staring back lies the world’s movement:
With purpose distorted by its realization, the present bursts forth out of nothing:
Pushing
Onward from some inconceivable lack,
Towards a resolution that will not resolve.  

Here I close my eyes.
Here there is the silence between thought and its realization:
In which the meaninglessness of boundaries can be discerned.
Here I find myself fall away into everything.
Here I find only Love.

Piercing the shrouded sky
They fight against surrounding black:
Like flowers breaking through sidewalk cracks,
The light seeps through the darkness.
Between the leaves
The stars reach for the eyes…

But now thought reaches away:
I escape myself through abstraction
As the past violently asserts itself:
Remembrance induced by a careless focus
On a memory flowing from a present vision:
The tree
now
Clothed in leaves
Beckons forth remembrance:

Autumn leaves,
Trundling into legs only to move past
As they ride the restless winds
Whispering their own poems
Of meaning only experience could collect…
They rush
Through fallow ditches
And enclosing brush which
Form a pattern around
The tree that beckons forth
- With disrobed branches glistening
White under stars,
Dampened by the still-settling dew-
A Self-realization that obliterates all boundaries
And encompasses no thoughts,
but the One
which gives them:
The One which gives a breath
Held together by the moments
Which trail the first puff of white
that joins the airs that wrap themselves
around the tree reaching up to the stars
which do not reflect the one who sees them
but give the light
towards which thought now reaches.

All these memories induce
The longing to feel the openness
No words could possibly posses
As slowly the months fade
Into the dissolving moments it takes
For the eyes to reach up to the light.

The poem,
In the hands of the reader,
Marks the time with rhythm
Which holds the words
That point beyond the page.

Like the rising sun
Which gives the earth its first light,
You give the poem to the mind
That finds you in the page
When it points to its beyond.

But yesterday still beckons
The mind that contemplates
The poem that gives the invitation
To leave it all behind…

Now I will sing you this lullaby
About a man who could not die
All around him the world did pass
Like an endless hourglass:
He roamed the beaches throughout the land
Counting every grain of sand,
While in and out flowed the sea
Like another passing memory
And every night the sky grew dim
The ocean always sang to him
And lulled him to uneasy sleep
Troubled by his lonely keep
But with his final conscious breath
He’d always whisper his wish for death

A dark ocean carried by the wind obscures my travel.
As the last sliver of light disappears behind the ghostly sea of clouds, I dream of you.
Memories worm their way into my conscience.  
Like your fingers gently weaving through my hair,
Though I have not even reached my destination, I can only think of returning.
I must repress what passions remain or this week will tear me apart.
Away from you I am away from life.
These thoughts rush by along with the clouds: transient in their form, continuous in their substance.
A voice pulls me away.
Her face, barely visible in the dark of the cabin, once beautiful now wrinkled with time stares at me with a formality: a smile.
The cold cup passes from her hand to mine, and I am out the window again.
The clouds are gone, replaced by the spreading tendrils of light that characterize the spontaneity of urban invasiveness.
Looking down I see cars, buildings, people, and in this transient state between destinations, between sleep and wakefulness, between happiness and sorrow, I dream that each one has a face like yours.

I dream of a world filled with you.

Between the words we speak,
The ambiguity asserts itself
In the lack we try to conceal
Through the flow of conversation.

Here truth always lives anew:  
Dancing from one lie to the next
Escaping the stability created
By arguments that struggle to their next conclusion.

Absorbed by these false summits,
Meaning slips away
As we look past its fleeting visage
Towards the endless climb ahead.

But these lies give understanding
About the truth they conceal:
About the falsity of our self-imprisonment
Within the differences we’ve created.

So when I tell you this love is infinite
Do not ponder the meaning of the words
But let them go in silence:
Free yourself and dance with me.