I don't Wanna

[Guest guest]

I don't wanna write nothin'

about jnana,

not now.

I just wanna swim

in circles

around your soul,

and blow water spouts

of pure Joy,

as my feet paddle,

frog-ripples

of webbed Bliss

into endless circular meetings

in the Heart.

 

I don't wanna keep buggin'

you about God,

not now.

I just wanna run naked

outside,

then slip into your skin,

and lean closer

to a rose's face

whorled in smiles

as my lips turn into

wine-pouring pitchers

flowing light back into

the borrowed moon's

own likeness.

 

I don't wanna listen

to my clown's juggling act,

not now.

I just wanna split the seams

of this carnival clothing

and leap

through the flaming hoops

of That realization.

As my wings

once pinioned down

unfold in full glory,

the side-show called Mazie

dissolves,

revolves,

absolves,

back into Bliss,

running full tilt

for just one more story,

give me another,

tragically,

beautifully,

well-acted story.

 

 

.....one more story, eh?

 

how about the one where

i crawl toward the unknowable

in a stupor, in amnesia, with a

compass of the semi-imaginable, where

i rouse myself toward the idea of moving

as if these words were my lost feet.

 

what is said is never it –

better a bowl of Mazie's Onion Soup

all around!

 

every direction is an experiment

as are statements, lives and

certainty systems.

 

my mouth is in ruins.

my will, a delicate feather.

 

persistence in the ruins,

skinned away of all beliefs,

even those that

rule me as they may

without my knowledge or consent --

now skinned away.

 

silent.

 

body vibration pulsing.

waiting for the song as it flies

however stray,

rusted bird twisted

with a tear.

 

everyone is waiting

like lovely statues in

the greek temples of mind,

frozen in various poses,

oh but

the rust too is beautiful --

orange flaky sediment,

particles whirling in space.

 

not age,

not debility, no lack of order, nothing

can eliminate beauty, the quintessential

beauty of all that is born, sustained or

withering.

 

that is the beauty of the triple Goddess

to whom i have sworn that allegiance

identical with our soul's own breathing song.

 

care for things of the world and those not –

yes, it's all in the wrist!

 

how could i not love life

and its tender weaknesses?

 

i could randomly die in the gutter

at the hands of a madman.

 

that does not diminish anything.

 

everything is waiting

 

waiting

 

for Your Touch

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie & b