to get into the river I let go of the shore drift past fear and through to discover something new I let go of the familiar walk toward the unimagined to change my mind I let go of beliefs allowing stillness in their absence to change my life I let go of my self detached from the mask
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that voice again pipes up, howls at the suggestion of a moment's silence why so vicious you might take softer approaches instead of the hammer, a knife, the furnace of contempt that burns away what might have been otherwise a flower or a song i control the tempo and temperature of my response i give it flavor gauge progress by shifts in volume and frequency it grows quiet for two or three days then i tend to violate any fragile truce ought to see it coming by now they're big and they're decimal written in stone one's about an ox one demands, thou shalt love just who commands? surely not that smiling fat buddha, no-- a king a lord before whom you kneel begging for enough to build your own fortress you, princeling of this tyrant who commands love why? Can it not be pillaged? Must he insist? Any child knows: love is spontaneous as laughter and cannot be commanded even for the amusement of the god who demands love in exchange for protection from what he made 1. How much light urges from the sun? Most is lost to infinity. Still the trickle that falls to earth fires the aurora. 2. Sometimes you stare at the the sun. You stare too long and it aches. Your eyes force themselves shut. You see bluegreen echoes of the sun inside your closed eyes. You open your eyes and the tears come. The world haloes, flares. You look at the sun and you have to look away. It isn’t allowed. You can’t receive all that. There isn’t room. 3. A photo is a reflection of memory a bounce off the surface of a moment. When you train your eye on the image you find your negative—deflected, polarized (as if Sol were to imagine Terra its mirror). Reflection is cold, insubstantial, on the verge, a mirage, a passing wave. 4. I sense you best with closed eyes. It is impossible to capture light in a photo or in the vault of memory-- sooner put a dancer in a bottle. So much light pours from the sun; I am trying to capture sunlight in this poem but all I have is a net. It's a poor container, like me. |
Poems from Other Days
September 2020
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