Monday, May 19, 2014

More Anatta For Will



How it happens without you
if you aren't careful-

every moment is yes very deep
like beyond the wave-breaking point,

every moment is yes very
saturated with gravity,

every moment every moment
every moment

I was twelve years old and the world tasted of chamomile.
Devoured and shaped by the soft gray fog, so long ago and
long before

the tilting scale questions:

Windmill or fracking drill?
Is that a windmill

or a fracking drill?

Balanced on the beam of a branch, and once I was a child,
hello there, and once you were a child, the past is death
it is the truth of death, it is as if it never was,

every moment, every moment.

And do we all know, you and me and
the swelling human sea, do we know the
healing purity of the struggle?

The churning disparity between windmill and
fracking drill?

I almost can be as brave
and as stupid
as myself
yesterday.

But I am learning to make love
out of anatta.

And I will write a letter 
and let myself be golden for a moment more,

a moment, every moment  

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