Exemplify without try
Each teacher bears the
Burden of account,
But the only way
They carry it is with
The strength of humility
--The emptiness to learn,
The fullness to teach--
And they do it without speaking,
Flowing like a river
Through a fountain
--Ever depleting,
Ever replenishing--

Making manic impersonations
On a momentary scale
We ride on the echo of cymbals divine
Decanting data into philosophic wine
Perceptive perspective manifesting matrices
Unknown --
Uncontrollable, undeniable, imminent &
Haphazardly perfect;
The essence of our yesterdays & tomorrows
Etched, in passing, into the
Particulate framework
-- Momentarily --
& yet
-- Eternally --
Manifestations cloaked in the veil of time,
Laced with intentions self-concocted,
The tides exchange,
Endlessly blurring the line between
Creator and Created

Holding hands with my shadow
the source becomes apparent
as subtle nuances conglomerate,
the boundaries between them dissolve
my awareness begins to loosen
its grip on self-inflicted illusions
making room for
-- This Very Moment --
the culmination of pulsating particles
subjectively self-willed  .  .  .

The difficulty becomes
A source of ease as
perspectives adjust
the dust settles
& the inherent perfection
of each idiosyncrasy
dulls the duality of
my self-conception

Oleander wax
Dribble and curl
Betwixt Rosemary, Sage and Thyme
Tiger's eye dust
Lamb's blood and rust
Rubbed heavy with
Switches of Rye
Smoldering Ash &
Freshly pressed hash
Entwine with bubble and snort
Sing for the dead
Cry for the living and
Mop up your tears
From the floor

This silent stewing atmosphere,
Air beginning to reach a boil,
Only smart amphibians jump from comforting waters
Into the oblivion of impulsiveness and
Throwing all things known
Into the fleeting wind,
Breaking free from freedom,
Finding old traditions in new lands,
Erasing memories, and forging new ones--

The silence.
The quiet pitter of precipitating plagues
Upon desert soils
Where magnificent poisons
Of stasis and spoils
Of capitalist endeavors
Piling upon one another to create
Monuments to their golden idols,
Solar winds tearing at biological fibers--
The Storm begins soon.

And I--
A wandering spirit,
tossed playfully back and forth
by the impulses of time and space--
I arrest this bright-eyed idolatry,
Escaping into fragmented mysteries
Awaiting me on foreign soil,
Not away from pain and war
Famine and dismay
Ineptitudes of a dying human race:
But simply away--
where the golden afternoon’s
lazy sunbeams will meet my
smiling cheek
at angles different and unknown.

Mystery within Mystery,

I open the door . . .

“Smack—” brutal interruption.
Boeings groan down the runway—flight!
“Smack.”
The ceiling.
Freedom, flight, yes—there it is!
The hollow, cloudless sky,
The deep song of technology
Ushering them all unto distant horizons,
To distant shores.
Now—“Smack!”
The window.
Portals of complexity, numbers; calculations.
Confusion, darkness, loneliness—
“Smack”

Crippled wings and foreign tongues,
Dejected, forgotten refuse makes for a greasy coffin
As the carcass awaits decomposition.

Defeat.
Death.