By | 1 April 2016

The poem doesn’t care who writes it
It is waiting in the wings
A belt of ekphrastic energy circumnavigating the earth
The planet we are made of
While others struggle to be fastened down completely
By standard protocols of identity and access management
We enter an archway and just keep walking
It’s good exercise
As opposed to war, pollution, greed, hate and delusion
Though these certainly have their adherents

I is a sum total adding up to now
Subject to future operations
Add to, subtract from, multiply by, divide by
And drive by
Trailing a long history like a tail
Reaching back into the paleo
There’s no place like magma
When it comes time to relax
And think it over
But we are too busy being multiples

The fountain draws from many streams
By way of the existence of cities
Shoots its spray to the heavens
In Technicolor and black and white
This experience of seeing
Is basic to being both awake and asleep
An insertion just beneath the skin
A workshop just beneath the floor
Water beneath the surface of the earth

Transformation is natural
Woman to man, man to woman
The long road to being
The butterfly’s return
Silence where before there was none
The poem does not let go
It arrives from the future incessantly
Ordinary fingers pick up on its cascade of plans
We can see it from here
A head with stars for eyes

To play extremely slowly
Is to caress the surface of time
To speed to abolish its domain
Cheer up my brothers and sisters
And walk in the sunshine
Our understanding is so very great
Being beyond the comprehension of a single mind
Life forms outstrip the rigorous calisthenics of calculation
Populate the ocean floor

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