A Trip

when words have slipped away
fallen, useless, and tangled
beneath the portal of my being –
I sit with my back to the couch
and channel

my bones are the way roots meet rock
my ears filled with the waves
of waves crashing – light bouncing, cascading
kaleidoscope-like through the
synesthetic scape that is me

I feel the grief of nations
and generations pour from my eyes
and each tear, a new birth
and death
that pools on my neck –
washing away any vestiges of ego

I am Everything

what a task
to ask this body – this land of mass
to be a portal through which
all of creation can express?
To address such things with words?
These clumsy, pointed characters –
nouns, verbs –
it is no wonder my hands
are shaking
with the very quaking of
the earth, sending shivers down the
bark of my spine
the very aching of each new breath
blending, time-immortal,
through the portal that is

The feminine stillness
of birth, life, and death
the spreading black illness
creeping along the leaves of my
living room plant
and I can’t tell you all this,
so I plant myself more firmly
in the seat of the stars
flowers blooming
and decaying
he kneels before me, praying
through me, life softly saying
the sweet nothings of being
the pixilations of seeing
the fixation of thought –
and in the everything, scattered,

I am the altar
of everything
and through this being
I will praise