Now From 1967

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Now from 1967

Now from 1967,
all that was new
is now old, played out, used up,
heard from afar and long time unremembered.

And you have never been here before,
and most everything you ever learned was wrong,
except for your intuition that there’s something more,
which is right and true. Reality struck you again
for the first time.

Everything now is diaphanous gold.
The past is blue molybdenum,
toughening everything now that is.

What is the temperature of universe love?
White hot, coldly crystal, warm and distant?
Fevered lungs measuring breathing?

What in this moment is happening now?
What is happening now?

You are melting.
The you that is made of sugar and red dust, that calls itself a name,
that you is disappearing now.
You have no name, no identity.
You are, all by yourself, connected to everything,
related to everyone.
More than words can tell,
more than any or all things.

What flesh is made spirit?
What spirit made love?
What love is turned to light?
What light into a fluctuating pulsation
of transmogrified exuberance,
removing soiled underwear,
admitting all pretensions?

Few are the years that memory has forgotten.
Fewer still are those it wants to remember.
1927 - 1967 - 2007 - 2047 - 2167

Merging, moldering,
purging, blooming.
Visions of flowers,
flowers themselves.
Leaves pressed together
in a bible of fences.

The world is a mother raven
feeding the universe love,
eating of the tree of lives and works not lost,
digesting the fruits of eternity,
composting remains,
raking ashes.

Touching each other,
mouth to mind,
tongue to the top of the hand.

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