tip of the bomb



I’ve seen angels in your architecture,

      spinning in your citadels.

Your parallels are parables

      of symmetry and balance -

      your arches triumphant

      beneath the weight of the sky.

I feel small next to the all of this.

I count nothing in its shadow.

Beneath countless constellations careening ‘cross the

      carousel of the night -

      calliopes clang in the music of the blue going black -

      going back to blue in the hue of dancing morning -

      dawning on me when my dream has awakened.

Shaken from my sleep by revelations on fire.

Leaping higher in their heat

      than any hand can reach -

      than any book can teach -

      than any tongue can preach -

      I beseech you -

do nothing

in the name of no one

and at no time

be no where

but now

and here!

Do you hear it?

Do not fear it!

This is your true name being called from the Halls of the Heart

      where the smart stand dumb -

      tongued by the true word of love.

I pray to the Holy Moley!

I pray the hunky-dory bedtime story the lays me down

      to sleep with my soul to keep amen!

I pray again to the universe

      swirling in the palm of my hand!

I pray for the Great Mind of Man -

      still veiled in insanity

      with calamity at the door!

I pray to the shore

      to bless the ocean and the motion of its tide!

I pray to the face of the moon!

I pray to the mercy of the Lord of the Light

      to always watch over the Children of the Night!

I pray for peace!

I pray for laughter!

I pray for some Hopi everafter -

      when the Great Spirit shall return to the land -

      take his bride by the hand

      and stand at the horizon of a new dawn!

Dawn on me,

     sweet satori.

I pray.

I pray.