H e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s b e r g
N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i v e s E d i t i o n
Dedicated to Richard Wilmarth
And what we see is not our own existence, but earth rotating beneath us.
Visible and expressible shift massless mind line and rotational air fall
displacement forms relief spacializes river crossing light materializes
outside of doubtful frontiers and captures a chain serpent of inconsistent
philosophies this acceleration is a parabolic flash-field
And in every foot-fall nothing changes — this becomes this again.
Collision course with a sycamore tree and a cup of green tea
near the Trident coffee house.
Sweep down workless blue.
Divide moments of unmeasured monotony and know that time
is a serpent: a strange element stuck in hermetic magic.
We come out of light and return to light,
with some tiny bit of experience meshed in between.
at some point there is no movement. At some point, time stops.
Break down and reflect, receptive moon rule.
Grains link nights and our sleep becomes a protection from life's nightmares.
Snow meals. Tooth meals and the evening room glows.
For good luck, a candle's flame floats in a window nearby and
a bed's white sheet covers a ragged mountain.
The transparency of the void to come
is a party
held under a blue
tent of sky.
When we fade, we wonder what our thoughts
been . . .
but what happens,
is that we give them to someone else.
Sometimes our minds begin to sound
like a piece of cracked porcelain
when tapped by a fingertip.
as ideas float
a sequence of events,
only possible in eternity.
[Originally published in NHS 2003, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs03/kite.html.]