Often trees are conductors of the absolute, the sidereal cuss
eternity. the blow escapes the rehab and into the fire as known
but
lost coupons short of your toaster of existence. the mind needs consciousness,
consciousness does not need mind. Bon Voyage.. when the body revolts within itself, and parts battle
parts,
it's the last revolution, the last pogo, follow the few that
have wisdom, don't let it deceive with knowledge, the brass ring of annihilation, you'll be recognized by a chip, and maybe it will be all that's left..

Monday, October 27, 2014

Michael McClure

THE ROBE
Sleepwalkers . . . Ghosts! Voices
like bodies coming through the mists of sleep,
we float about each other -- bare feet not touching the floor.
Talking in our lovers' voice
NAMING THE OBJECTS OF LOVE (Inventing new tortures,
machines to carry us.
Wonders full blown in our faces.
Eyes like sapphires or opals.
Aloof as miracles. Hearing
jazz in the air. We are passing -- our shapes like nasturtiums.)
Frozen, caught held there my shoulders won't hold you. HEROIC ACTS
won't free us. Free us. Love.
We are voices. Sleep is with us.

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