Tuesday, July 14, 2015

to new theresa who i know is out there.

i looked up, and saw it.
whether it was the atom bomb or

the face of a god, smiling or sulking

it does not matter- i felt and that's it.

i suckled on this that was felt,
and the milk synthesized

into a name not yet given
to it.
i felt.
it meant something was real.

it was in the clouds, not yet interpreted-
mere shapes between shapes

without reasons entwined. they gathered,

bundled as if a storm would be, directly
above my face. i opened my mouth and

never closed it; took a deep breath.

something was new but did not
tell me so.
it was cunning. i would later on know.

with candles around in the
empty big room of my dreams, where in

the middle i pulsate, quietly; a normal
rate- i sat on those clouds- auspicious

the above was still above. it sang.
its song was pathology. i am devoted
to pathology. the sound of music

is pathology. my religion is this.

and as is known, religion
is humbling. also, as we all know,

morals are not within this, for
religion is simple.

it's to keep the mind at ease. the faces of god

fold and fold and fold
like one thousand origami cranes.

i have one. it came out of where i came from
right along with my birth-marked crying face.

i obey
this bond, often blindly.

virgin, virgin, you who lift my face- what is it
the clouds will look like today?

i see they are abundant.
from abundance- abundance.

virgin, these other souls with names
are weird to me. their prophecies
don't seem to be the same as mine. even

in this own self
is a bigshot other self.

it picks up accents and drops them
for new ones. it's a thief.
it's a plagiarist. it steals from people
without saying they're the source
of all it says and does.
it is as if the clouds have climbed downward. i do have

success with growing things.
indeed, it is as if the clouds have climbed
right into me, like
tendrils of ivy.

out of my mind and out of my mouth, every last offering.
so clear is the path.
you, saturate. make yourself in everything. what is

is whole.