I am still as the moving branches

That web the sky with my long eye.

 

I am calm as the pivot-mind spreading through each atom

Vessel-vein threading its life-full message in the silence.

 

I am that silence

I am the song of that silence.

 

It weaves an eerie, sublime cantata

Hackle-edged, on the blade of Inbetween.

 

My spirit frets at this goosey skin-cage…

Ah! but it never frets!

 

It  reaches out to its fullest paradigm - while conscious of its chains

those limits painted by this double-self-ness from which it sees.

 

I am the rushing quietus of timelessness.

Fingery-spokes wheel my decisions into their rut.

 

I am a towering ecstasy.

I clash my joy with the cymbals of pain.

 

I am a soaring strength. I crunch universes in my palm

And spin new systems on their orbiting free-wills.

 

I am the child of my own creating.

Each strand of my potential is a formula I know.

 

I confess, I confess I am the reverse of all suchness.

I am an empty, empty page.

 

 

1975