Posted by: spickering | September 19, 2006

Rose Red, Rose White

It’s the subtle thing
Underneath everything that matters.
A little glow,
A photon,
The little genes who get their energy from God knows where,
That make color.
A life that could be
Is somehow in there
Always moving towards something,
The one true being,
But this thing they fed you
Keeps warping it back like the gravity of a black hole.
It still has the energy of the whole universe,
But it only moves in a ring and can’t get out.
A wedding ring, the Mandala, the Sun…
Sometimes a few ancient whispers will flow back through it.
Usually they ferment in the blurry warmth just beyond awareness
Like one thinks of a film’s background,
Felt and forgotten, felt and forgotten…
Have you ever drunkenly fallen against it and thought maybe its the real you
That’s transluscently, quietly gazing back?
He’s happy and warm. He’s glowing. He’s going somewhere.
The Garden is inside the mind and out. So is the wall.
A wife and a life are on both sides, but this one won’t believe in you .
Your true love is like the Hawaiin, Acapulcan Blue
of those Elvis movies.
Such a sweet blue that the rods and cones cannot sense.
And it has the smell of Tennessee in the Fall,
The crunchy scent of gravel and grass,
Bathed by the rough, orange, glowing, chilly sun.
One smells that flowery smoke of an Appalachian Evening and wonders
Why is that no other place in the world is as cold or warm as this?
There’s a pause as the winter rain freezes your feet.
Is it a thought or a feeling?

I should travel to the sea.
I should ambulate across Kingdoms.
I should distract
That little thing
That keeps


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