Wednesday, August 29, 2018

...floating on...


...again in a day... and change... like last time... not like last time... this time without her... this time without... this time no hangars... no heart on the cliff... no rush... no running down a dream... no bangladesh and then india in a few days... no no no's...

...we floated on... as did her mom when she was past crawl... as did eric firuz peter frankie jahan-gil day rani boro apa ... float on... float on's... rest in peaces to the spirits they left...

...and then there is the float of us... each of us passing through each other... permanently changing one another... some having epic impacts... some that i hold with me... not because i think about them but because they appear... because they come to me... because they speak... and i speak back... quietly...

...sometimes it's them you are speaking to when you think you are speaking to me... it is them... these spirits when you may see a uniform of a sinewy cinnamon man with silky curls squiggly legs exposed through patched up knee-length jean shorts... it's them... nana - a tallish pear shaped green eyed poet from shaolin whose quiet astrology i wear in observing human behavior... rekha... an indian goddess from queens, ebony and ruddy cheeked, hazel body like a magazine model, who hugged stairwells with me as we dreamt...  ro... her thick eyebrows coming together in sudden meditations i wear on the subway...

... people... many of them... i wear... i am... i speak in their tongues... with their voice... in my breath... queen nodding and blowing steam... the world at every interval needing to be blown out... followed by a nod... and we did this till neither of us knew who did it first... who was imitating who in what or whether we were always doing this and the reason our exchanges were lucid, interlaced, sprawling through small town america...

...float on... i float on and watch generations... like a spirit in his last days... noticing bodies outside of bodies... and the grave tethered like a balloon to my jean pockets... to stay humble... light... purposeful...

...float into Self... as i leave without expectation or strings...


No comments:

Post a Comment