painting by Randall Paul O'Rourke

the elixir

Winding nights of life infuse our burgeoning blood
with confounded needs and unfounded insecurities.
A neat titration yesterday,
dripping sapphire desire into fidele base.
Tonight magenta clouds bubble through
my cylinder, begging for mutation, for your beaker of molten jazz
to saturate, adulterate, reiterate our implicit bondage.

 

June 2003

 

Painting by Randall Paul O’Rourke

 

gestation

Sweetened lightning leaves streaks
          Of your essence on my skin.
Paper memories leave us behind,
          Panting, and wrung out of words.
Our future, pivotal and immediate, trusts the moon.

Still, logic betrays beauty with expectation.
Have you ever seen a shooting star
          Through the lens of impatience?
Chameleons do not change
          For the entertainment of others.

Petition my heart, not as a dying entity, but as renewal.

 

September 2004

Photograph by Tom Clark

 

the source ( “i’d rather..” )

Sitting by the Hudson at dusk,
on the cusp of summer thunder.
A deep OM sets in over river sky,
as the Jersey shore exhales and swells
deep into my gaze.

Nature knows I am sundered by her.
She is not being watched
and so opens wide
to expose the beautiful entrails
of her surrendered celestial bodies.

As I slip inside her innermost secret,
the leaden stillness of truth draws me in
to an expanding desire for nothing.
This prurient desire to feel more
of this moment
merges with sky.

My heart cries out:
“This is all freedom is!”
Suddenly my breath is freer.
So, this is what it means to breathe…

And I realize,
that
I’d rather have this.

I’d rather have this
than a river of my own
and be unable to merge with it.

I’d rather have a dilapidated boat,
and mad curiosity to sail,
than anything a stationary home
and stationary mind could offer.

I’d rather be indigent
with the freedom to walk the river
than lack the impulse to wander.

No really,
I’d rather have a jail cell-
with a window,
than physical freedom
and psychological bondage.

I’d rather give up the world
than hold onto a life that wasn’t meant for me.

Rather have the freedom
to dance ecstatically,
than give up my wildness
for a contract of fifty Broadway shows.

I’d rather let you really see me,
than define anything about myself.

I’d rather wander the world alone with nothing
but a smile
than never again have the opportunity
to light joy in a stranger’s heart.

I’d rather have my divine lover
once, just once more,
than forsake my wisdom
with an earthly contract.

I’d rather have a mystical void
than avoid the mystical.

Rather feel everyone is my child
than need to birth sweet children of my own.

I’d rather communicate
than have a cell phone.

I’d rather you feel I am learning from you
than know that I am your teacher.

I’d rather be unknown
than give up my joy in the unknown

I’d rather leave this life now,
with not a fear as to what comes next
than be diverted from the path
of truth and love.

Rather love everyone
than love anyone in particular.

I’d rather the ability to control my breath
than control over anyone.

I’d rather stay here
and participate in collective liberation
than transcend anything.

I’d rather give up my illusions
than be happy.

Rather take leave from this life
than have nothing left to give.

Rather free you sexually
than ever have another orgasm myself.

Rather painfully burn,
than painlessly freeze.

I’d rather experience surrender
in every cell of my being
than have the world surrender to me.

I’d rather never sleep again,
than fall back to sleep.

I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life
than give up the chance to love you.

I’d rather,
than not.

 

                                          June 2011

 

Gia by Tom Clark Photography

the echoes of cosmic union

It is true; I have heard the love songs
of formless longing for form,
of essence longing for breath
and life longing for birth.   

My own life has been an echo of cosmic union.
I’ve danced the subtlest melody of courtship with ever deepening self
and a wordless longing for no more than divine unfolding
cradled always by the intimate peal of the sutras. 

I have been Shiva, I have been Shakti. And both I can never not be.
The map written for me is the same etched on the face of every soul.
I have met you here before, on the singular path of infinite celestial polynomes.
with eternal mind galloping through our every manifestation and choice. 

We were once of the same constellation, gazing at each other from across the galaxy
upholding a seemingly singular Universe. Until a new one unfolded.
You became the zenith to my valley, and then I the fog hugging your foothills.
I was the plum you once ate. And the mother of your cubs.  

I have known of the eternal realm of love,
it has even lulled me awake at night whispering secrets into the ears of the unborn,
kept scraps of my soul hanging on through the darkest of days
and mortared my poetic vision to a muse I had not yet met.

Even on my deathbed, I kept long-beaded mantras of faith wrapped about my neck
tightening karmic strands one by one into flesh of cosmic confusion, desire, and despair
blindly endowing my own fitful engagement to the legibility of future seekers
whose minds today eagerly read the last notes from my skin. 

It is true that I may be possessed by the madness
of unremittingly falling in love with the transience of the moment, any moment
of instinctually despooling the farces of trend and order
and knowing ecstasy to be the brightest umbrage echoing inside each breath. 

Yet I certainly did not know the flesh of eternity
until I tasted your face.
Until I unraveled my tightly held expressions of affection
into new forms of poetry.

It is not an easy truth to settle into,
as the bliss of true aloneness has been good to me.
As with all rites of passage, the recognition has destabilized me.
The more vast heart becomes, the faster mind unreels. 

And the sooner sanity becomes the last measure of bondage.
We can move into anything with our eyes closed
but choosing love over loss frees even the sleepiest nightingale
from her silent burden.  

Now that the cage door to my soul has been torn off,
I cannot look away from your face. It could be that I do not dare. But I do.
Every day I dare look at the simmering fragility of the world as is
and find the ocean of my sight pours relentlessly through your love.

September 2011

Photograph by Tom Clark

 

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