It works like this.
There’ll be a wall. It will look like a wall. It’ll feel like a wall. But that’s not important. You must remember you’re here at first to find a door; no matter how long, deep down, or how high said wall is- you find the door. And if you can’t find the door it is your job to invent the door, to claw your way through in some form or manner until the passage becomes star-full easy & you feel accompanied by the cool hand of God.
The warm hand of God.
The seething hot, fiery hand of God; how ever your God comes. And if he comes, may it be in your eyes.
May it be on your head.
All over your heart, thighs, back, where ever your wonder resides & your worry, fury & excess, & and where the ferocious scratches on desperate pulpy napkins come from on wet wood bar counters on dewy nights with blurred strangers, hungry kisses, compromised memories.
And the walls will soon be distant until new ones appear but you’ll be oriented by now & if not- you’re to remember to notice your psyche is on, your synapses are lit, your skin is borderline electric, & you’re here to find what you’re supposed to plug into & it’s probably not the kind of situation that any wall could support anywho, so your descent is on par & you’re cruising, aren’t you- to destination unknown or if you know, you don’t know you do yet, but anything can be where you’re headed, & anywhere can be where you’ll find the most formidable manna this side of Eden, & you’ll never know which side that is, which is just as well because the interior can quite resemble an Escher painting with the bottle spinning. You’ve locked lips with every poet who ever dared to resist in order to invoke, & this -my friend- myself- is so many people all inside of us -the oneness- & we’re about to get a ticket for public indecency even though it’s a dimly lit park bench with only rats to hardly mind, & you’re a happening party of one, so full, for the walls have toppled & you’ve made it to some top of some hill where the bats have soared into an infinite black night with every color squeezed captive & exploding in perfect silence, fizzing.
You will remember that you are open to your guide & will ride any direction in the wake of the right spark because you’re one serious buyer on the market for your next big, extraordinary home. And this home is limitless, undivided lyrics; more than unearthing your favorite threadbare jeans you’d thought you’d lost. More than heavy sleep due the softest pillow you’d given up hope in believing in. This home is a sonnet that will hold your soul familiar; where you’ll wake with all the love songs assembled at your feet, creeping through you, you exquisite vessel. Soon to travel out of your beautiful, crooked mouth with the force of a wrecking ball from 1,000 feet up, knocking down the last barricade where only open doors stand against the sky that you can walk around anyway.
What's on your mind?