Fist on the Table

The tensile mood at this gathering
suffocates the path
to freedom again.

There is no vaccine
for the poison of the ego
and the tunnel into which
it forces our many vibrant thoughts.

If you dare,
let the wide open ocean
break the way to salty tears of love.

If you dare,
sail away from the grief
to a place where no one recognizes
the way that you walk
or the color of your hair.

This departure will be the fist on the table
demanding the respect you've always been entitled
to drape calmly over your shoulders
before falling into the arms of the beloved.

Hummingbird

In many places near the equator
it is said that hummingbirds carry the souls
of departed warriors
returning to fight another fight.

Slowly, as if the sun is giving birth to light for the first time,
we have been converted into that kind of beauty
and covert power that so many are hungry for.

There are so many days when we'd rather escape
than be drained by Narcissa
and all her drab minions scrapping
for the same mirror.
The slashing and flashing
unseemly at best.

Wisely, the hummingbird hovers above it all
choosing the exact flowers to favor
before the subduction of each morsel of truth
is blathered away by all the mindless color.

In this jungle,
impatient wings flutter
on the unsubstantial breezes
until the cacophony of ignorance
passes away.

Body Intelligence

Please send me notes
from the lecture I was unable to attend.
My body's wisdom
won the battle
over a busy day
full of nothing.

Send me the notes
that will fill in the blanks
in the collective memory of the world
we will never regret missing.

Send me the sacrilegious lyrics
chanting disharmony
into the investments
in meaningless activity.

These words I will burn
in the fire that will warm me
at the break of another day.

My hands will no longer ache
resting over the heart of my love
while sleep consumes unnecessary fatigue.

My legs and knotted back
will lift the heavy burden of nonsense
into the compost pile of forgetfulness.

And my teeth, cracked by gnashing
and clenching into a Mona Lisa smile,
will be restored and made bright

knowing
that all this flesh
and vanity
is impermanent.

No Need

Confound me again
with your bareknuckled love
like the gardener
taking to the damp earth in May.

I am already mesmerized by the threads of longing
that pull me through the darkness of another deep December.
Your kindling of kindness is constantly flickering in a circle of light
that polishes the blackness, soothing and liquid,
brushing such honest warmth on my cheek.

There is no need to joust or thresh my mind for meaning here.
All my doubts wither with each day of standing tall,
bravely facing the steely eyes
of all that is burnished at sunset
and unmistakably marked
by one who knows

the true names of God.

Too Much

What can anyone do to conquer the illusion we make each day
out of the smoke rising from incense
like signals we send to God?

Even the most stable among us are anonymous
as we yoke ourselves to a practice,
arch our backs in saline flexibility,
riveted by our taste for the sacred.

Here, with our hearts touching the earth,
let us turn up the volume of our love
and feast on the vision of too much.

Dark Ceiling at 2:17 a.m.

After a night of wrestling flannel
I remember what it was like to explore a dark ceiling,
lines like a jigsaw falling apart,
praying for a guardian to gentle my mind.

Fear was that lonely button at 2:17 a.m.
swinging crazily from a trapeze over my heart.
I was disturbed into being awake and aware of each heated thought.

The eternal was quietly there
to encourage faith in something.