spirit-journey

in detail, a single sporangium
will cough up thousands of tombs
in detail a coral reef is a cemetery
as much as a small portside village will be
under the heel of unpatriots

you said everything dies like that
always in the middle of going
emphasis on direction
we are swallowed by the blackness of Being
alive until we escape into the light of having gone
not death
nothingness is still a form of Having;
my backpack cannot cross over the ocean
with it in tow, and will roll down a hill
gently
again, I have to chase after what I fail to love.

in the hall of stars, gods, fresh enamel, and wood blocks
unfolding like curtains, wings, song, opening as
greatly, quietly, one, noteless, predominant, dismembered,
resisting the pull of its own anchor, floating
the Heart is still beating, flowing, illuminating
the body, recounting everything like a sin, the taxation
of duress and the dull edge of honesty
the powerless power of light that is Going
and I am here wading to see what is about to happen
trapped in three lines before the ending
the flight out of here, the fetal position, the poem

towering over us are the spears of dynasty,
idolatry and infamy; I light a cigarette and grill
the sides of those idiocies until the stars find it
palpable enough to swallow from its embeds

higher than your favorite and most scrupulous cloud
everything Is as beautiful as you said it would be.