Wednesday, March 17, 2010


we've survived these storms--

a breather in the apocalyptic wrenchings
that are purifying the earth

poo-pooing the mounting evidence
with trembling notions of science and rationality--

and I'm reminded again I live in a world
that thinks science and Spirit are antagonistic--

science is at best an apprehension of Spirit's will
to manifest in this world--as all signs of our Oneness

increase we cling to our own imagination--
blocking the active flowing of Life--and I live

in a world where those who hear this say
"blah blah yeah..." while bailing for their lives

before the next storms knock us grudgingly OUT--


the street sign says "bump ahead''--

isn't it always? and why waste my tax money
to make a sign telling us what we already know--unpoetically?


what I paid for was delivered elsewhere--
someone must need it more than I do--
who'll default elsewhere
to come
to my aid?


I'm at the mercy of morons
so I say and so says the one after me--
I'm at the mercy of morons


I awoke from my Rip Van Winkle life--

20 years I begged at prayer a miraculous save
and only slumbered through a daily nightmare
of violence and eerie stillness--a mediocrity
of contingency and slow fading--

now old--awake--gone but of remembrance of a prayer


I conquered daily reality
I worked like a dog
gathered at the troughs with other hungry dogs--

but I dreamed of heavenly kibble
and so conquered one squalid satisfaction
with another--and still the eye out for more


now my bones hang a drapery of skin
waiting to be drawn


how eternal the moment
long long and long
so appear so brief
in scope of recall


a last flare for women--

their beauty the manifestation
of all body and soul could offer to Spirit--

holiest lust--the engine of this world--
that races when a man sees his beloved and feels

first flare for his woman--


my beloved
passion deepens from quick flash
to slow burning of lingering glances
and hands drawn as by magnetism

my beloved
the fullness of love radiates from
this contact perpetual once or a hundred times
a pole star for all souls on their two-by-two way


a rich deepening blue sky at twilight

is the last thing I hope to look at
when the door opens in the air

and I continue my way to the source
of all twilights and all rising days

a pale green and orange dawn on a shoreline
of some ineffable immensity

rays blazing across the water to bathe the limestone cliffs
and light the hazy beach in the damp glow

of this morning---

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.

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