Zen-ing

Hand-me-down molecules from
the millennia before last, each one
a prostration of the fourth dimension.

Intention is a world away from
perception. Just as you are
your own world, and I am mine.

Sixth Sense

I stand beneath streetlights
agog with fireflies who do not
know fear in their passion for light.

Molten light snaking into my lungs
while I hear exasperated nuclei
in the throes of a nicotine death,
I feel the touch of a scream on my neck -
this must be the kiss of death.

And yet, tomorrow I shall awaken
to the taste of plasticine faith,
the ultimate proof of surrender.

Surrender, to the sixth sense

Sunspot Scrolls

A resplendent shade of magic
like the first leaf of spring
tentative on the lips of a breeze.

Papyrus tales crumbling in the
ancient soil will someday form
a part of me.

Goblin fruit under marshmallow clouds
slowly filling my beer belly as I lie
on ochre grass somewhere on a sunspot.

Chartered underworld somewhere
in another galaxy stolen from the light
rules in forgetful command.

Dessicated wheatgrass on my
armlet laughs at the anklets on
the feet of a cloud, chains
extending beyond my imagination.