What if heaven is inescapable,

a place to go to within the mind?

What if it lingers there, burning

while we are otherwise distracted?

I want a long hook to pull me from the stage

so that, from the sidelines,

I can simply watch the world

in all of it's splendor

I know I contain some grand kernel,

an essence of the earth, as do all humans

Perhaps that's why I yearn to speak

in ways I don't quite understand

Perhaps that's why wordless currents

swirl within me

causing me to speak about paradise

as a great unfolding conversation

Something in the body knows

when the spirit wears thin,

when hope appears to be

caught in the wires

Something in the body

is a messenger to the unknown

it travels through the night

and in the morning whispers to us,

in a voice too small to hear

without being magnified. We must

reach out our hands

and be very quiet

We must listen for that

singular point

where the unknown comes into contact

with our inspiration

What is believing?
Is it a hollow shell
for us to put stuff in?
Is it an Apache helicopter,
hovering over the blue ocean?

Nothing is more sacred
than the sting of a wasp
It is immediate and inescapable
while the rest of the sensual world
can be shrugged off

I want a bandage
over whatever eye urges me
to see beyond

I want to see the most immediate things
most clearly
I want the fog of the future
and the formulaic conditions
to be burned away
in the light of the sun