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we are like a sphere of light
and our wounds tune us
for Linda
1.
do we have to she
whispered
and that sent me away off
to Gaza and another life
I tend the mules
I am alone
and these are not my people
another life
with no joy and no reprise
yes we have to
I answered
and it sent me away
with the infinite dragon Ouroboros,
tapping my shoulder as
I spun through mirrors
into what many lifelines
the last lap behind the mirror
I was an Edwardian gentleman
walking my fields
shotgun in hand and
I was a mother partridge
wondering whether to break cover
was there a boom
and I was back in the room
awake gazing at the "gas fire"
(a British room's,
mid-twentieth century
gas fire they glowed red and
blue)
the child! something's wrong
with
the child's imperiled
It was three months later
the motor vehicle accident
the child through the windscreen
minor injuries
but her mother mauled
(no wonder she hadn't wanted to stay
for the long haul)
and what is the relevance
somehow it relates
to the "doom"
2.
I was sitting meditating
a lifetime later
and boom
like a shotgun's blast
in the guts
under the diaphragm
"doom"
like a kick from proverbial mule
I've never felt a greater pain
a full thirty seconds more
oh my God
Irritable Bowel Disease
is a diagnosis of exclusion
so there we go
it was "paroxysmal"
and it returns on occasion
though only when I'm "flying" high
and less and less
three years on its devolved
to a nausea
yet still
this doom looms
down in the belly
3.
I was flying
with you
and Moon
you pointed to your crystal
pendant
a tangerine quartz
a small pendant
wrapped in copper wire
smaller much smaller than
your little finger
Moon gave me this you said
and it was aglow
a glowing star
spiculated symmetries
unlike not like a snowflake
more like something out of Star Wars
small gentle yet bright
light
stunned
I gasped
mother it shines!
4.
so sitting beside you
after the ceremony
the "puja" chanting
the other day
flying again
(we'll use that euphemism [with this apology]
for a pot-stoned psychedelic what'sit)
holding your hand with
a walnut-sized ball of light
between our palms
a cool light like the tangerine starship's
that light present too
here now then just out of view
and a while on a while gone
my mind tracked to that doom
and a little epiphany bloomed
below
in my belly
we are like a sphere of light
and the wounds tune us
pain brings pain rings a tone
that colours our being
and that's the tale
the little I've tumbled
of the tune
of the doom
(and there
too then
I was massaging my "pecs" a pain connected
and Mel injected
what's going on there?
I'll write
you the story I said
so this is
the tale
so far
of) my gleanings
of the wounds
that are shaping
my world
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