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Father, you came to her that night

words – dream-scrambled, unrecalled

apart from melody of ending, from beyond

all opening of death

 

“Now I am biting the void,” you said,

“Now I am biting the void.”

 

and so we became sisters, the void and I.

In laughter and dance,

swirling in mockery of life and love

believing in himself too much

shaking and trembling in his rhythms

as if we could empty them all-

laughing at Eden, because that promised,

ever-so-fertile land

has blood-stained walls.

 

So here we dance, oh kinder king,

Embracing voidity naked, and finding ourselves

frontier-less, nothing,

allowing creation itself.

 

Indeed, God himself asked space

to twitch his face and

laugh at pure reflection.

 

Come to me void, my oldest love,

– let me dissipate

and expand through you,

walking through those holy walls dividing

what is and what is not

Let me welcome the night and the promise

of becoming

…or not.

 

Dance with me void, through me, in me

until infinity itself collapses

and we go behind

the first point

of life expanding,

forever abandoning itself,

as being confused in unbeing

sprays gray space of arriving

bliss.

D(R)EAD

 

From an unanchored shadow

over there, under a tree in the school-yard

caught lurking in the corner of an eye

I heard it said

that you want me dead.

 

Always one to comply,

your prize will be delivered,

this day, or another,

my body a fool’s gold

to fill an eternal void.

 

Yet the light whispering on wet leaves told

that you yourself died long ago

deep inside, it has long been lame and cold,

unnoticed even in passing

and tragically unmourned.

 

When did it happen, that secret death?

Was I away with the kids?

Or too lost in love of being

to see that you had gone?

 

A death like no mortal course –

a rupture of soul from source

of word from meaning

of man from feeling

as the void empties spaces

where other humans live.

 

Leaving a body that stalks the courts

repeating words spieled out

long ago in random sequence

squealing vengeance at life itself.

 

 

Behind every collapse of trust are the roots of self-betrayal.

We betray ourselves when we break the sacred promise of our incarnation by refusing to express our blessings.

In a fear of physical life, we try to fixate our experience by clinging to ideas of what we want to exist – in stead of what is there in the moment.

How can we lose anything that has never been truly ours?

Why is is that when we have been deeply forsaken, we carry a feeling of guilt as if the crime were ours?

To move through the fear of betrayal is to unmask the inner traitor of light.

In this, a door to freedom opens – the freedom to exist beyond our former limits as a creative source of human expression.

Ochroma lagopus

  Daddy
spring,
you never
said
you
would reach 40;
drunk and real dead,
your girl pruned mortal,
knocking shock in time,
from clearing surreal.
feeling wood-like that
coffin,             Mr.  Sheen
dense,        shoulder
funeral          flame
flares             in forest
to burn                  white dwarf,

Dead
sun-
in that
bleak
hollow
follows olive twig,
branch of instant whip,
hurt leaf-lip shaking,
tear in mossy face-
your son and grace.
today 40 years, dead
drunk and gardened
in clinics, splinters
will incinerate-
clutching forsaken
flute – and flakes of ash
rises in balsa wood holes
where death is mute…
he blows songs of rage.