shut my eyes
to awaken
the new sun
makes hills
blue raw clay
we lay in dewy pasture
open skies
kiss
your lids
soft pansy petals
heart
clutched downy chest
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
interpreting the spin
"What?"
I ask myself questions. I interrogate myself, hold myself to the light and try to see through.
"What is intention? What is purpose?"
The questions are as diaphanous as the gown on some foreign goddess and yet they are as real as my skin. I know I am the kin of this dawn, of this haunting place, this high, low land of mountains, of this large rock. Pohakuloa, long, large rock. Grounded but not. I feel unlike myself coming into myself, a stranger. A coin, I am, perhaps. A coin spinning on it's axis, close to the table's edge, will I fall on my face? Time will tell.
The spin is not premeditated. I have not calculated it, have not figured it, did not forge it, did not grasp it or set it into motion. (Manifested it? Maybe.) My parents are most likely the source of the spin who forged this coin with colliding atoms, from some want of curves, some hunger for the feral feast of pheromones, from the heat of human coalescence; it was they, really, that got this whole thing started, or was it their parents? Who started it all? And did they know that they'd one day be making a coin that so precariously spins on the table top of this long, large rock called Pohakuloa?
The grain of this place is precise but my knowledge of it is absolutely imprecise. I am getting dizzy here. I haven't quite learned to close my eyes and humbly accept that part of my destiny is as a physical object among physical objects. The lighting of the world brings clarity to the page like progressive pictures of a ultra-sounded-out baby. Tell me there are more than two sides to everything. Coin I am, coin I am not. Spinning I am, spinning I am not, one thing like the other, one thing and the other...
And the question remains, when the coin stops spinning will I be face up or face down? When I leave this physical place, I predict it will be in a manner of symmetry. I should think I'd exit as I entered, sunny side up with my life wrapped about my neck.
I ask myself questions. I interrogate myself, hold myself to the light and try to see through.
"What is intention? What is purpose?"
The questions are as diaphanous as the gown on some foreign goddess and yet they are as real as my skin. I know I am the kin of this dawn, of this haunting place, this high, low land of mountains, of this large rock. Pohakuloa, long, large rock. Grounded but not. I feel unlike myself coming into myself, a stranger. A coin, I am, perhaps. A coin spinning on it's axis, close to the table's edge, will I fall on my face? Time will tell.
The spin is not premeditated. I have not calculated it, have not figured it, did not forge it, did not grasp it or set it into motion. (Manifested it? Maybe.) My parents are most likely the source of the spin who forged this coin with colliding atoms, from some want of curves, some hunger for the feral feast of pheromones, from the heat of human coalescence; it was they, really, that got this whole thing started, or was it their parents? Who started it all? And did they know that they'd one day be making a coin that so precariously spins on the table top of this long, large rock called Pohakuloa?
The grain of this place is precise but my knowledge of it is absolutely imprecise. I am getting dizzy here. I haven't quite learned to close my eyes and humbly accept that part of my destiny is as a physical object among physical objects. The lighting of the world brings clarity to the page like progressive pictures of a ultra-sounded-out baby. Tell me there are more than two sides to everything. Coin I am, coin I am not. Spinning I am, spinning I am not, one thing like the other, one thing and the other...
And the question remains, when the coin stops spinning will I be face up or face down? When I leave this physical place, I predict it will be in a manner of symmetry. I should think I'd exit as I entered, sunny side up with my life wrapped about my neck.
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