Time Splits Open

In my love of day
My love invents another day
In my window night
Another night is invented

We are what we think
So carnival of carnal imaginations
Be still, learn to concentrate
For the calligraphy of fate

Shows sign-seeds of
Syllable-clusters, rampant sparks
That the stars in my hands
Invents a touch that deconstructs

Itself, these eyes that have
Taken these pages by storm
And this heart that cannot
Let any portion of the
World go unloved alone.

Photograph Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Camille-486793992

The Young Brain

In memory of the
Germination of words
I held dreams to the
Mansions of meaning

Remembering that myth
Permeated culture, a million
Notes within symbols
Hidden between the context

And the semantics
Of the dawn-wet architecture
Of how to think the same things
Each generation has thought

The important questions were
Immutable, a meeting place
Where all minds wound up
A municipal garden of intelligence

The corners and plaza where
Feelings, instincts and awareness
Intersect, like lightning
And the words meant nothing

They were only a bare minimum
Translation of experience
And experience wasn’t much
But a simulation of variables

An algorithm of sense
The salt and pepper of pulse-beats
Of time, but how the present
Was as untouchable and intangible
As ever, like a child who never ages.

Photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Glitter-491028440

Premonition of Transcendence

The gateway of my being
Is a wide open clarity
Where I am tired of speaking

I want to go beyond
Into the nameless silence
Where duality disappears

And forms seem unimportant
Unfasten my being into
Pure energy, quantum syrup

For the Ananda in my brain
I want to go on, I cannot;
I am not built for dreams

But destined to sing in
Imprisoned blood, separated
Like a self in egocentricity

Arriving forever at selfishness
Keen to behold a face of springtime
That is more expressive than instinct

Grant that I see the face of
The living one day, I wish
Everything would speak to me

Each pulse arriving forever
Only in the relative present
That is only an entrance of magical reflections.

Photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Gone-491037965

I Came Here

I came here
As I write these lines
Not as a poet, preacher, prophet
But at random, an explorer
Of language, this first
Invention, I find it very fine

Finer than many of our
New things, I embrace
The lineage of poet-saints
And eat the mystic rhetoric
For breakfast, all to have a

Feast of the mind, a daybreak
Of the soul, that is not
Contrived by economic murmur
The first light, the dispersion
Of the birds makes me feel free

Like the music behind verse
I came here
As I write these lines
As a simple fool & observer
Careful to maintain my silence

In this world of propaganda
Careful to maintain my purity
In these times of great corruption.