January 22, 2005
Poems that row on an open ocean. Takes you on journies you didn't expect when you started.
Enough profoundity to keep you laughing at/praising this ridiculous world 'til the cows come home.
There is not nearly enough darkness for all these monsters
parading limousines and dingy socks
Mascara down, down into my toes
God, fall into my vision
and float down slowly
you shape-shifter, you
My prophet of choice this morning
takes the shape of a six-year old girl
in the back of a blue bus
she schools her mother, points to the bridge construction
and says, "The trees gave birth to mounds
of dirt which transformed into cells
for Life...
Long, long ago, before people ever lived...
there was none of this here
just trees and n o
t h i n g s"
She speaks molasses
slow and more deep than her princess face
(I'm scared I'm pregnant)
"but dirt isn't really d i r t y
it's all just ashes, the earth's skin"
(and the dream of stabbing myself in the belly)
Trans port ation reflects its generation
the ability to trans
pose through portals of life stations
like the black hole the bus is in--
It's all Her shell
but before all of this, when there was nothing
We spirits could disappear, reappear
and teleport names, BIG ones
and social theologies just like THAT
Disconnected now, we trans
pose an obstacle course
between birth and nirvana
tons and tons of walls like flesh
and clay, the kind that's hard to melt
"She'll hurt you back if you dig too deep"
(and the love was exactly that)
The whole process is just fascinating,
from birthing glove to breath
or from slicing yourself in half
and slipping your good side far within another
(well we'll see what happens) nothing's,
no things, for keeps (the sun, the little girl 4 seats back, our love)
and that's the beauty of it
"so don't be scared, you can ask me some questions
if you want, about spirits and things
All I have to say is Truth"
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