I
was found in rehab, for pushing ‘cain, and dropping ex.
I
felt for liquor, to run a group, a bit precocious. I knew
for
a daughter, somewhere yonder, to bleed prose. The
years—oh
the years, spinning and grinning sorrow. I
knew
a mystic, even a koan, gifted with chi. I learned—by
paying
attention. I grew through patience. We channeled
caves,
spoke of mystics, and read through rivers. I
vanished,
for somewhere close, a young outcast. Women
knew
it, ever to see it, a mother mourning. The grave
was
close, a subtle tomb, yelling and screeching. I met
a
nun, to die a soul, drifting through college. We merged,
to
feel for rain, cringing for folly. I was told for split,
ever
to ponder realms, to feature for numbness. Life
spent,
to touch mercy, to grieve existence. How to fly, a
feeling
proud, to wrestle with forces? I moved, trekking
fountains,
filled and ghostly. I met a dozen, spent on
vision,
knocking and raving. We loved it, and never
forgot,
a flaming brick wall. We live it torn, and shorn
inside,
baking fireballs. It wasn’t nightly—for daily,
merging
and fallin’; and yes to rise, to imbue a child, to
witness
for rise; and still a grave, to chisel nightmares, and
sipping
coffee. If only life, a Buddhist nun,
to flight
a
miracle; but life is more, ever to tug, speeding through
ramps.
I’m a bit wild, to feel it in secret, and harness a
storm;
but more to souls, scraping and grinding, to form a
nation;
and more to Spiritus, a grand piano.
