give and shake
end of then, start of now
poems are the shards of thought
Broke upon
The rocks of reason
Shattered–scatter-blown–by the roiling
Ephemera of life and
Illusion’s duty.
Splattered against each other in too rapid confusion
for logic
(which only moves at the speed of electrons while poetry unlocks the heart
To feel
at...the...speed...of...light.)
Whereas:
Poems dream-on
Despite the herds
And tides and
Give and shake,
In spite of hunger
And desire and
Logic.
For logic aforehand builds the bridges
That outlast us all.
Yet poems dream-on;
They want and keep Truth.
That is their job.
But my poem is to want to please
Your golden dream of skin and yin and
Face
And soar with You in honor and in
Grace
–way past the time of bridges–
To put the kibosh on logic so we can scream while we dance
–laugh while we make love–
And not worry about babies and bosses or
High school indoctrinations
That mandate entry exams to
Careers as races for payments for policies
Of...death insurance...and
now...pretty soon,
(way before the bridges die)
You’re gonna have to ask and sigh,
why
me?
And i’ll have to tell You it’s because
You gave me your number,
(we all have numbers now)
permission, as if granted long ago, by proxy,
To open lines of heart,
Already pulsing,
through the ever-present Universal Current,
(I was ambitiously speaking
Of Prana to impress
And get close to you)
when you smiled
(Embellishing the altar
At which I worshipped
In my graceless hard-up
state of thinly won
courtesy and appropriateness)
And then...
Dear goddess of love and beauty
you showed the kindness
(My religion is kindness,
Said the Dalai Lama)
that You feel for all humankind:
You
Thanked
Me
(In rare ironic reality)
for simply coming by.
As I,
Worshiping your existence, could scarely breathe
To sigh...
Your name...for...
You were meant to be appreciated, treated,
Protected, admired, and praised.
Viewed and feted/
Sated...for
You are the source of civilization,
The heart and soul and meaning of restraint,
The guarantor of nature’s order
(by the need to appeal to your favor for the continuance of man),
And the source authoress of all comfort, joy, and good.
And you are child so future.
And you are Woman, so therefore tied to pasts
Passed on
By Logic’s Rule of Women
(chained to history’s graces and disgraces.)
And you are Reason: a Reason of the Heart
(for the order your sweet smiles and tender kindnesses invoke
saves me from a darkness that tries to fill me from within
chasing ‘round my brain like mute children crying “Help!”
filling me with
guilty
needy
angst
and enough self-doubt for: fear.)
So, Dear.Displaced.Angel, Sweet Refugee From Heaven,
Dear Bridge between carnal craving and spiritual security
(Do they not have the same destination in mind?)
I do not want to win or get over even if I’m alone
and losing as I gain.
(Why do we get confused?),
Yet I am sweat (let’s face it).
You are Beauty (turn around).
But you are not a decoration:
Decorations fall from style.
And You are not a flower:
Flowers fade.
You are what flowers turn to
when they seek the light
(as I may turn to you,
sweet sunshine of my night.)
And You, bright miracle, thanked me for coming by!
You are like a poem:
a poem that wants to light the world with
...truth....
A poem that’s job it is...is to prove love.
So: start of now: end of then,
Future everlasting,
to all Women,
All men.
–omtatsat–
