Verdancy, the rush of the wings beating calls me to bright green urgency
Every minute that passes is in labor with Now, screaming clutching birthing unearthing
Possibilities torrent one after the other, call it music, call it water, call it what you really ought to,
Pummel harder and harder with the calling of the season, to wake the fuck up holiness
No dream when the mountains push new colors up, that’s the movement.
And you lay sleeping, time digs trails across your face as you ask
Like always “Am I alive?” You’re not if you have to question
And if you are looking for an answer just touch the green
And wake the fuck up holiness so words disappear
Mirrors break- clocks make up new numbers-
Such is the revelation of a morning when
It’s not you who arises from sleep but
The you born in that crazy Now
All pain and joy dissolved into
A single breath, the opening
Of the blossom, the husk
Shed, holiness once here
Requires nothing more
Than your attention
Rapt- snapped- apt
For it to take
In all this
Me (to Universe): Oh, you guys!
The Universe: What?
Me: You're just being so dang awesome.
The Universe: Um, always have been.
Me: I totally get that, but you're being just so awesome-awesome.
The Universe: What a qualifier. Okay. Thanks. You're trying to say things are working out for you?
Me: Yeah, you're rocking it.
The Universe: Nope. It's been working out for you this whole time. You just upgraded to the "Accepting The Whole Kit And Kaboodle" package deal.
Me: I don't remember upgrading.
The Universe: End User License Agreement, dude. If you accept the whole thing, the whole thing accepts you. Capiche? You clicked "I accept-" so there you go.
Me: Um, thanks?
The Universe: Thank the guys in Investor Relations. Always looking for a buy in for stubborn customers- I mean- Beings, like yourself. Gotta run, someone needs a little romance.
Me: Whoa hey, what about me? Isn't that in the fine print too?
The Universe: We still have to fulfill chance here and there. If you're so blissed out, you make that happen for yourself. Part of the package deal. Package. Get it? LOLz
Me: Well dang. Jai guru deva.
Poet's Block is a subtype of the diagnosis Writer's Block. It's a qualitative thing. While the blocks break similarly, through some existential circumstance, Poet's Block usually reverses by having a condition of mediocrity slapped the shit out of it by Reality (or local variants).
Oh, Universe, you and I apparently have tall orders of each other,
stepping into ourselves like this.
I can’t imagine the things on your to-do list, and yet my necessities to complete
not only known to you, they are the ever-doing you.
Yes I have facts and figures to consider, hearts and souls, compatriots and perceptions
which weigh in those brass scales to which we ascribe decision.
To You, any of this is just orbit, just an orrery spinning eternal on the mantle of a vast library window
and palpitations over human desires are just turns of the arc, a cast shadow
that knows years the way an atom knows oceans- we are each other yet you will master me.
Daily, I agree to an illusion and become subdivided by “time,” and the obligations I sign in invisible ink.
We look at ourselves in mirrors and agree to the lie that the reflection is us, yet know in true
the obverse is the one staring back, an otherness we practice speeches with
yet the gravity of each yes and no we utter ill compares to the vastness of cold infertility of true dark;
nor the fecund yes of billion year star-sex, giving nubile planets a first spin.
No artifice here; this is just a cluttered house with cats and a lone man clutching at portent
and promises, trying to catch nebula on his tongue and find
the checkmark in his DNA that says “you've done well enough- the Earth is spinning-
is that not reason enough for you
to know our work is done by losing the bullshit, so we can dance together?”