Slept Badly: A Love Poem, and: Reveal, and: Awake the Stone

Slept Badly: A Love Poem

Slept quite badly.Worked all morning.Love the view from your window.Jewels scattered in the night.Want to see the view from your heart.

Magic connections will abound.A high force set in motion,In spite of what you think.High force set in motion.Connecting above and below.Above in the unseen.Below in the unknown.

I drift in and out of your essence.Reading the runes of your soul.Different inside from outside.Learning a new languageOf your faraway breathing.Destiny changing with those secret linesRunning through all the websFar beyond the sphere of timeWhere the ones who see beyondOur realm see when the true genesis of touchWill bear astounding fruit.

Only how to be readyWhen the dove hovers overThe unwilling mindMust you yield up the millennial

Ideas of sacrifice.They know that there is noSacrifice where there is love.Just a giving and an altar-offeringWithout a name and withoutA measure. Who can measureThe view from your heart?

I sit at its windowAnd the enigma of the twilight cityMakes sense to meAs the movement of the windDoes over the face of the sea.

Watch the links multiplying,Till a flower is formed.Can you give birth to a flower?Can you give birth to the new selfForming, from the enigma a clear form,Mysterious to behold,Beautiful as the dawnOver those mountains?

What is magic?To touch, and give birth to worlds.To dream, and for the real to be in doubt.To love, and become calm,So that all becomes clearLike the evanescent form of an angel.

Slept pretty badly.Worked all morning.All I have is a certain gaze of yours,And the way when leavingYou take all of you with you.And me at the window, dreaming.

I want to see the viewFrom your heart.

Reveal

There’s a door in Giotto that leadsTo Duchamp. An angel like a warriorFolds the sky to reveal the mysterious.History of man in a symbol of goldThere’s a face the size of a wall.That once lived in fields of roses.Rolled up paintings in that studioLooked like the skyscrapers in Manhattan.Artists make big demandsOn their dreams, and their dreamsMake big investments onThe white eyes of our hearts.Somewhere in the vast constellationsThere is a figure made of stars.Just by holding an image in the mindYou can become the same.Children command heavenTo yield a miraculous conception:Each time the world obeys—Till they fall into sleep.I once held a falcon in my dreamThat became a limpid waterfall.Hold the lamp inside the door whereA woman breathes technicolour.Her sex dazzles one eye,Illumination in a magic lantern.You have to bring the past and the present,Ashes and gold, to spring forth the future.Open the door to the flowerstorm,Dreamdrift, and the paradise tears.Roll back the earth to reveal the angel,The colour alchemist, with inturned gaze.

Awake the Stone

From stone the secret, deepIn the flame of the mind.A shape that holds,Without a name.That the spirit can mineBeneath the fluid earthOf Time is what we knowAbout Fame. Its wings are discreet.

But the tree of life yieldsImages when it hasn’t roots.As bone yields its symbolsWhich are sacredWhen the mind is the flameThat knows the hidden form.

The libation of boneThe ancestors comprehend.Also that space and timeAre from the same root grown.Music springs fromSteel; the river from the secretOf stone is sprung.And bone is the pageOn which a poem is changed.

The world game has been starAltered in our ancestral dream;Altered with our dance, flame, and wings.Our light transcendsThe skyscrapers of the dead.

A new language a riverA waterfall a yes...