MISTS HOVERING THE UNDERBELLY
The earth at one point
was a cloud of gases, gradually
gathering through magnetism
into a generous geode
shimmering into ever new
layers of complexity
and beauty. Attraction
grates on the elements,
and creations into images
of the swirling community
of matter endowed with sparks of life.
It shines brightly,
a strobe of energy,
and dims on the wave
of the pulse, Darkness
giving cover of night for slumbering,
Light in which to do beautiful work.
Lately it seems the slumber
has stirred Sirens streaming
soliloquy and choral screaming,
and the gases, the vapors
of our thought and reason
are storming like the cyclones
of Jupiter’s underbelly,
the electricity of the plugged-in Blues,
the contemplative call
from its acoustic porch and field
antecedents, the prophetic
wailers of ages unto ages
proclaiming the plainly seen,
explicable were it not shrouded
in dense Falsities proclaimed
by ingratiating prophets of Promises
designed to deny the Oath takers
their bogus, targeted Reward
which was said to be Security
that becomes a sense of the tenuous.
You can submit yourself to any
properties of the gas,
the way it floats in air, inert,
observant, pliable, and steady.
Or its flammable propensity,
aggressive, fluid, expressive, on an edge.
Or it’s cluttered atmosphere,
traversed by bird by plane and satellite,
by ashes of Industry and War,
by prayers of conscious Life,
by waves harnessed with sound and code
and others yet hidden.
Breathe in that which is already within,
and find it there in your lung,
in your gut, in your peering eye,
your fingers and skin for touch
and walk from there.