With breathtaking aplomb
We arrive here as timely as a giggle of virgins
Gathered like hayseeds
Into this wide-eyed crack-brained moment.
The gusto of a thousand divine blue elephants
Surface bounteously up from an emerald sea
To be this wave of what will be,
And to trumpet the news of the world
As it surfs the sunbeams of convergence.
Upanishads of spontaneity
Gregariously congregate into psychedelic slipstreams
Of maharishi mantra's
Where we pasture our bellybuttons
In the Iliad of now.
It is time to milk the gratitude cow
And expose a well turned ankle
To the man in the frolicsome moon
Of our cowbell souls
And there be the soapbox of this joy.
Millions of Painted Lady butterflies
Are storming in
From the Northern fringes of Africa.
We cannot swing a cat flap of doodle
Without colliding with God's fly past.
Whole mind mountains are land-slipping into this ocean
Where the dolphins are tuna friendly.
Love arrives with a mad hat on
And pulls down the shorts of time
To moon us into jocularity.
Yes, I know that you know that I know.
And I believe that you see what you see.
And yes, I am what you are to me.
You are the tickle my fancy of mermaid hair
Spun from the loom of an auricular ascendancy
Of dream-catchers
That just turn up like leaves in the driveway
of idle thoughts
And then form ornamental ripple-grass
Of astounding nitwit simplicity
For the God people
Who are out of their minds
And who drool like perfumed lap-dogs
In love's dockyard for the ocean.
Yes, I know what I know
And I can see the way through
This painted labyrinth of you
As clear as a frog can spot a Princess in a fairy-tale.
Or as blue-eyed as a baby dragon who falls off a knight's horse
To be this legend of the earth
Recounting your stories in its dreams.
Retelling butterfly dreams for the village people.
I am on vacation from the path of the blather road to God.
Have read the runes and thrown them up in the air
To make your childish sagacity pop into wonder
At being just this moment of us
Crashing our dummy beliefs
Into the empty walls of heaven
And shouting yippi-ki-yea!
We are shipping water like whales
When they surface in a titanic froth of God bubbles
And spew out their presence in the swell
And all being well, of our latest picture show
Of what we are when we do not care
To be here or there, but only the now
Of what we are.
Drowning in the uplift of our hang loose
Consciousness of a divine air conditioning
Being the being-string that flies away
From us.
This show and tell of our hearts
Talking in riddles for the angels of the after-world
Of reckless bamboozlement
To make peculiar the words from an infinite sutra
of God almighty gabble gossip.
Changing like tongue movements,
Or Sea-Horse play
To be our advent of creation.
Marking this day of our Lord
The 9th of July
As our apple-pie manifestation
fresh out of Love's pure oven
Of us. |
