Times inheritance accumulates
to a pile of objects
pushed to a corner
We are children tired of our toys.
Wood trains have morphed into
digits and dots
and we think its lightning
because when was the last time
that thunder woke up the mind
to its crystal cave of
projecting a possibility so vast
that thunder has transformed
into sugar on rose petals
so that when we give the slightest
and quietest “huuuuuu”
the sweet crust melts
to a glaze in which our reflection
sighs back “aaaaaaaah”?
its in the backsplash of space
who coaxes us with the elements
who want to hear us coo at their touch.
But lately they are asking what has happened to our juicy flesh
that the great contract used to be written on?
The agreement between form and formless
recedes into the recess of our callous
mind..calcified with fear of dropping
our clothes of belief.
The uninitiated mistake nakedness
for pornography and aim to parade her around
a shopping mall of flowers sprayed with perfume
and cell phone plans
and promises of never-ending desirability
Beware of those
that spin cotton candy out of bullshit
and expect you to feast upon it.
Just around the corner is the banquet
of love’s breath lying in great repose
pulsing with the great marriage
nicknamed inhale and exhale