You can get to the light
through the darkness,
but your chances
aren't very good.

So I think I'm going to
call off my campaign
against all the beautiful ones
who are not possessed by me.

I flee from you,
because you are always correct.
Your numbers always land
on accurate determination.
So I flee from you,
because the spirit flees from you.

I know the spirit flees from you,
because it tells me with the green caress
of the undergrowth on my taught
skin seeking comfort while I crouch
low, and it tells with a fearless bird chirp
landing jovial on my tongue.

You know the spirit flees you,
because you do not hear the spirit,
and you can't deny, the spirit
talks to everyone.

My baby boy looks
at circular things
as if trying to remember
something that god
was saying.

I know exactly what there is
to witness as the sun flashes
in the dance of a million brilliant
diamonds atop the tumble of the sea.
It is the Dead, and each flash a call -
"We were the rich, the poor,
the beautiful, the plain,
the experienced, the naive,
the timid and the brave.
We are the dead,
and you will join us here
in this exile of radiance
and liberty."

Wag my tongue
and raise my arms high -
           Rejoice -
I'm running down the road
after the new sickle
          moon
without regard or hesitation.

I pray to disappear
in a light sparkling
just as white.

My mind is now warped
after too many attempts
to exploit the blessings
of eternity for personal gain.
My mind rejects that its
simple circuitry can not
contain the slightest shade
of truth and join the springs
from the ever flowing fountain.
My mind is, in fact,
the abacus of courteous deception
working to protect my heart
from such a transformative joy.

I am disappointed.
I can visit the neighborhood
of eternity at any time,
but can never bring
its riches back.