Risen
Sky born, lifted into life above
Water, Earth, primordial mud.
Bare breath and lilting light float, carry insubstantial
tongues, bitter yet sweet. Exultation, daring
to swoop, touch,
taste, briefly complete with
flowering waves.
Winter Gods glaze over mountain peaks,
rocky rivers, mother's eyes.
She gives suck embalmed in memory,
engulfed in smoke of smelting flame,
gasping, tropically turning, blind, yet
beyond fear. She regurgitates paste of
air, light, instinct, held together with spit
and love. Taste her sacrifice.
A world drifts. Black night backlit in
pinpricks. Atmosphere built like bioluminescence,
symphonic, symbiotic. Hear as rippling elements
grow words, symbolic histories, into a Summer game.
Out here, sparkling rain weaves rainbows. Reverence
casts poetry as shimmer and shadow play.
Up here, beyond boundaries of ordinary days,
the only Commandment to penetrate --
Be Peace
Class Conscious
We make them monumental in our minds
Assertively attest: "They're not our kind.
How dare they go disguised in human form!"
How dare they speak, to criticize the norm?
To suggest some claim to what I've mined,
refined to specs our kind defined as wealth?
How dare these filthy beasts expect my help,
relief for degrading and disease, consequences
of our industry?
Profligate
Deep in the mud, in the murk, in the sewers.
Sharing convivially with cast out pests.
Biased by looking forward to avoid looking up;
sick of the sight.
Mining waste of unappealing lives.
Getting by surprisingly well on the barest belief.
It's not thievery to see value in what sin
has left behind,
sensing like one blind to glamour's fads.
Dancing along backbrains, pleasure neurons,
bodies ache to expand.
I carry no allegiance -- this land, this opportunity
to breathe -- what do you want of me?
I am only a slave if I care.
Take the best of me
if you dare.
Was Luther a Gnostic and just didn't know it?
Who packaged Locke's critical message and sold it?
Who has freedom or its choices
when money talks louder than living voices?
Brain-shaper mad advisors dressed in vestments
advertise
"Profit is our best road to atonement."
So we build this fictional prison to own it.
I see the secret of the Moon peek through historic mist over this hidden valley
Dark cosmos surrounds, a deeply soundless eternity
Gentle caress, self-possessed drifting serene
All possible meaning encompassed in this simple scene
Sky born, lifted into life above
Water, Earth, primordial mud.
Bare breath and lilting light float, carry insubstantial
tongues, bitter yet sweet. Exultation, daring
to swoop, touch,
taste, briefly complete with
flowering waves.
Winter Gods glaze over mountain peaks,
rocky rivers, mother's eyes.
She gives suck embalmed in memory,
engulfed in smoke of smelting flame,
gasping, tropically turning, blind, yet
beyond fear. She regurgitates paste of
air, light, instinct, held together with spit
and love. Taste her sacrifice.
A world drifts. Black night backlit in
pinpricks. Atmosphere built like bioluminescence,
symphonic, symbiotic. Hear as rippling elements
grow words, symbolic histories, into a Summer game.
Out here, sparkling rain weaves rainbows. Reverence
casts poetry as shimmer and shadow play.
Up here, beyond boundaries of ordinary days,
the only Commandment to penetrate --
Be Peace
Class Conscious
We make them monumental in our minds
Assertively attest: "They're not our kind.
How dare they go disguised in human form!"
How dare they speak, to criticize the norm?
To suggest some claim to what I've mined,
refined to specs our kind defined as wealth?
How dare these filthy beasts expect my help,
relief for degrading and disease, consequences
of our industry?
Profligate
Deep in the mud, in the murk, in the sewers.
Sharing convivially with cast out pests.
Biased by looking forward to avoid looking up;
sick of the sight.
Mining waste of unappealing lives.
Getting by surprisingly well on the barest belief.
It's not thievery to see value in what sin
has left behind,
sensing like one blind to glamour's fads.
Dancing along backbrains, pleasure neurons,
bodies ache to expand.
I carry no allegiance -- this land, this opportunity
to breathe -- what do you want of me?
I am only a slave if I care.
Take the best of me
if you dare.
Was Luther a Gnostic and just didn't know it?
Who packaged Locke's critical message and sold it?
Who has freedom or its choices
when money talks louder than living voices?
Brain-shaper mad advisors dressed in vestments
advertise
"Profit is our best road to atonement."
So we build this fictional prison to own it.
I see the secret of the Moon peek through historic mist over this hidden valley
Dark cosmos surrounds, a deeply soundless eternity
Gentle caress, self-possessed drifting serene
All possible meaning encompassed in this simple scene