LOGIC THAT ABIDES

   Whoever thought up chairs?

Dolphins? Octopii?

Things like worms minas legs,

  creatures with wings, fins and hands or stereoscopic vision?

 Is the idea of a spine and Direction the crux?

To reach up, fall over, move sideways

when we used to simply squat

giving birth with ease; 

sleep upside down in Space, curled-up in wombs 

or afloat upon thermals

adrift within water currents:

dreamily rocked in uterine hammocks

and held in divine arms.

Thrones to perch upon,

benches to prop on

and mats raised on legs, called beds

to lie on, make love on, 

rest or die on:

like Romans and all shamanic  indigenes

raising us above the dirt, damp and scorpions, 

 from getting trodden on, tripped over,

scorned, looked down upon.

The Ground is holy

as well as literal life-support,

yet seen for dead stuff only: plus festivals, picnics, prayers

 - hippy settlers, gardeners, hermits and whathaveyou:

paradox, the logic that abides.

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