Abstractions, July 4th
I can see through words,
through the clouds of thought
obscuring the circle's dripping edge
I can see beyond the limits
of logic to where the river
is everywhere, both source
and destination, both swollen monsoon
and thirsty drought,
all this and more . . .
I can see the stones as though
from tomorrow, as though
the rains have finally fallen
and the night is quenched
_____
in this place the hungry beetles caress
dark moments, frantic vibrations
signaling a life unseen
_____
a false god, the brain, more powerful
than any real god that might exist
we fail to glimpse the body of reason,
the flesh of mind, the sinew
and synapse creating thought
from frivolous sensation
so what? I ask myself,
what matter is that to those
who go to sleep hungry or alone
in the hot wet night
_____
philosophy is a luxury
of the comfortable . . .
and poets
_____
so the night collapses on itself
and we call it dawn, still hot,
the air wet with smoke
of fireworks and foolishness
this isn't why I am here,
to blow things up in celebration
of an idea, to look backward
the future stands sentinel
on tomorrow, where the stones
are wet with rain,
the dawn is cool and alive,
and the hungry are sated
with all the earth can offer
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