Upon the wingtips of the hen that laid the precious egg
A raven landed with message of portent to take
Singing night songs into the mothers ear
For crying's sake
Wishing away the mem'ry of the plague.
Within the precious egg life cooed.
Discretely exploding awareness' drum.
Through the forest the overtones hum
Awake
The chick's night songs in the hen brewed
It was early and the hen awoke alone.
The light was bleak
The mother touched her belly with her beak
From deep within, the rattling spoke,
The moment sprung a vicious stroke
Upon the helpless hen two whom
The precious egg was borne.
The fluttering between the sky and ground
At dawn, the day pounds
It's imminence
Remember this
At night when you are giving birth to phoenix's departures.
Remember standing bare before dusk's archers.
The light between pure night and proudest day
Is the vestibule of time I seem to inhabit
Myself and bugs bunny the rabbit,
Passing the universe away.
Awake.
Freed from skin I travel with simple colors,
Children's delights, pinwheels and kaleidoscopes,
For sake
Of nothing anyone to tell of guilt or hope
Or anything to bother.
Spectrum of lines, light lies and time lies
Awake, it makes us. And what we call sin:
Delightful and terrible illusions take us in.February 10th, 2010
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