Recycled: There you are…

When you have the time, I hope,
You meditate back to the womb
Or even through the tomb–
Back to your last death.
And you see the force of your life,
A dying breath dry as bone.
A gasping breath clinging to its throat.
And you comfort the hardened air
With priestly notions:
This is the beginning.
And you puncture the run down lung
With Brave fervor:
This is your end.
Air tumble out like a gutted tire.
You take it in, the aged air–the dead air.
You breathe it fresh, and new.
You are born.
Again.
Green as a springing leaf.

There you are…

You start to peel back,
Circumcising memories,
Reliving the unconscious.
Squeezing the repressed grime
To the surface,
The toxic oils atop your ocean skin.
And there it is,
You see it.
Unfurling like a Chinese ribbon,
(A rainbow vortex).
Dancing a hypnotic Haka.
Whatsoever it is–Your demon
Do you have the courage to war with it?
To stomp hard before it?
And scream your war cry?
Can you murder it cold?
Can you accept it?
Or
Do you take flight, Bolt for the hills–
Back to your cave?
Pussyfoot ankles shackled in their grave,
Living dead again.
Breath, a clinging-vine strangling
Your corpse.

Air tumble out like a gutted tire.
You take it in, the aged air–the dead air.
You breathe it fresh, and new.
You are born.
Again.
Green as a springing leaf.

There you are…

 

Image@photobucket.com

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