2016 10 05
The day I wake inside a flying book,
whose calculating codes preserve our names
in tragic tale of calm reasonable love,
is when our fierce words are written in dust
with invisible ink of laughing rain
that restores apple blossoms of our souls.
Ten billion people sit alone in rooms
of white-smeared walls without windows or doors
and sing to each other across vast space
of rancid beach where singing waves dissolve
broken hearts in sparkles of crystal sand
who break from steel eggs reborn without wings.
Ten thousand days of glowing golden hills
I lived in peaceful valley where white clouds
sprouted into apple trees by blue stream
till roaring monster tearing at my throat
chased me from paradise, so I ran swift
into waste land where no waterfalls sing.
Sweet taste of clear water from splashing rain
aches with fierce desire from my swollen tongue
so I stand on shore of dry river bed
to drink tears and eat rocks of bitter hope
till my bones form frail skeleton of hills
that stand forever eyeless in hot wind.
One yellow rose in the vast trackless waste
of mute expedience explodes from my brain
in howling hymn of terrified contempt,
but when I breathe hurricane of despair
I soar above dead land to transcend death
and wake again at dawn with three new eyes.
I rise on beating thunder of my heart
and stumble laughing through bleak city streets
where wind alone plays hide and seek in halls
of social power since kings and queens contend
in vicious game of dominance till rain
drenches everything in shimmering gleam.
We gather today in hall of lost souls
around fountain of tears to dance and sing
in reckless celebration, drinking blood
of angels crucified on apple trees,
for resurrection of our mermaid queen
who taught me to roast fish on pyramids.
I rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time
and start to count each time the sun glows bright
by planting one apple seed in lush soil
till ten million saplings sprout from cracked shell
of crystal sphere that encircles our globe,
then sail with twirling galaxy nowhere.