"infolding" poems
The nature of infinity is this: That everything has its
Own Vortex, and when once a traveller thro' Eternity
Has pass'd that Vortex, he perceives it roll back behind
His path, into a globe itself infolding like a sun,
Or like a moon, or like a universe of starry majesty,
While he keeps onwards in his wondrous journey on the earth,
Or like a human form, a friend with whom he liv'd benevolent.
As the eye of man views both the east & west encompassing
Its vortex, and the north & south with all their starry host,
Also the rising sun & setting moon he views surrounding
His corn-fields and his valleys of five hundred acres square,
Thus is the earth one infinite plane, and not as apparent
To the weak traveller confin'd beneath the moony shade.
Thus is the heaven a vortex pass'd already, and the earth
A vortex not yet pass'd by the traveller thro' Eternity.
from The Illuminated Prophetic Books Milton
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
I begin to write and immediately
as if obeying an immemorial pact
the earth pulls away for me.
Shows me her full body—veined,
scarred, demure, ashamed. Too
pitifully beautiful in her naked
cringe and tuck of her legs. The
meaning of brutal honesty. Waits
as if expecting to be scourged but
shaking my head I gesture
no. In light darkness, sketch
true martyrdom.
It is nightfalling. That is what it is.
Like hands, interlocking,
spoken as ashen clay infolding
to a dome their clasp over a flame,
covering it. To hold—not extinguish—
and if extinguished to travel on
in smoke. It is that. That covering
over the flame, the capturing of all
warmth and light from all that is
around. I try to get above, over,
around. Before I slip into bed.
To cup over the flame
my self, my life, this hour. And her.
Try to round all as home
or hearth above the nomadic flame
that mocks what I gesture, and shakes
vigorously its own vacuum.
As if heaving in rib-tickled laughter:
Who do you think you are!
laughing, doubling over, cracking
its sides.
But I do not forget my hands.
I do not regret my hands.
What they can do, above a flame.
In light darkness of mine, I can laugh too
and write—above, over, around
and she, relax her trembling skin.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
A spiralling ascent
Along the world's edge
Sweatdrops fall
To a below without sunlight
Boot dust
Llamas labour under supply packs
Hoof beat lantern dance
Shadows cast on the cliff face
Distorted we loom
Above the mute fog of humanity
Summitous
Awash in the final dawn
The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
Ancient tapestral landscape
Exhales into us
Curvously infolding
The old Inca holds out his hands
The knife cuts horizontally
Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
There, he says,
Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
And we see dimly through the mists—
There, he says,
Pizarro could not follow us,
And we see dimly through the mists—
The neon lights of
Neoqusqo
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 11:24 AM UTC
Sister-love, I cannot say how it should
move alone, though all else with it imparts
upon two.
These two beings from the same growth,
molding each other lovingly so that
they might see more clearly
themselves.
Earth-love, for what else should I love but you.
The one, being so generous in all causation
and particulates,
becomes mother and executioner to all at once,
unending.
Friend-love, laughing joyous rapture.
You cannot know me for all my secrets,
but why should it matter? I do not learn
your own.
The only rubric enough for this profession,
is silence without companionship.
Food-love, oh you speak pleasantries to my body.
Such a tactile energy, emmersive motions!
life
recycled and recycled and recycled, as it was
once for you as well, ever infolding in on itself
in perfect ingestion.
Our movements have fed each-other, in such a
base and satisfying way!
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Truth or dare, dare, always dare, truth be known
you know, be free makin', the
ingredient of ever
we all share. So dare, the truth can never lie,
and you know good from evil,
right, y' good t' go.
Leap into ever after now as if this has value,
ab
out- about time, we nail about right on, about
as a pre-position for trans any thing, mogrification, f'sure,
about is impossible to point at without
observational bias confirmation and cognotible gnosis snot
dripping into a realm after logos, it's
complicated con carne and
more layers of logical
thought, all sifted and sorted, so here
we find no reason for war... and no fear of dying.
How freeing...
Just
about (adv., prep.)
Middle English aboute, from Old English abutan (adv., prep.),
earlier onbutan
"on the outside of; around the circumference of, enveloping;
in the vicinity of, near;
hither and thither, from place to place,"
also
"with a rotating or spinning motion,"
in late Old English
"near in time, number, degree, etc., approximately;"
a compound or contraction of
on (see on; also see a- (1))
+ be "by" (see by)
+ utan "outside," from ut (see out (adv.)). right... you knew it, not me.
About time means many things you may imagine,
all save the absense of good, actual tasted, tested, verified good,
all are possible - even probable - at a given point
about, is a miss, almost all the time.
who jah gonna call h'laf weardan? Hey, Sue, boy, Sioux, we concile
we are near in aptitude to our fathers who were wage slaves
in one nation,
under God's flag with all the battle ribbons, all the ribbons furl
url rhymes bettern world, furl a flutter fly, swear alliegaince to this sky
we got by, hell t' pay, hell we paid, we got by
the rest remaining is ours and mr. hicks's peace on earth.
this is that bubble of being.
As it evolved from the peaceful kingdom over and over,
infolding the american dream to this
on a more galactic scale.
Out there,
liars prosperity
don't disturb the true
heirs of the wind, in the end.
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 6:44 PM UTC
That feared long avoided kiss infolding
memories of sentiments rebuilt, to acquire
stability evading chances of tears revolving
from the past once more eligible to provoke,
sorrow in the eyes of he who closes them as I
hesitantly surrender to the warmth of his lips.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 2:25 AM UTC