+ revolutions (pt. ii) +

again, the moon is full in the night
just like it was 28 days before,
and before, all the way back
before there were minds to
call it a day or a night, or
mouths and fingers to count it out.
all the way back to when
purusha lay with prakriti
and together squirted out this
beautiful mess that the night sky
looks down on tonight. confused?
well don't be. 'cause you're rolling
along slowly with those clouds,
tryin' to cover up that lesser light
which gives such clear direction,
and you, always changing direction.
and guess what? you still
come back to the same place,
again, again, and again,
feels a lot like home, huh?
so how 'bout you stay put
this time, and keep turning
on this wheel, the true one,
the one that's been calling you
since before you had a name,
all the way back to when
purusha lay with prakriti and...

+ revolutions +

on the sofa now, in dark light she straddles him,
and again, everything old is new
distances of time collapsed in a shared breath.

intensities rise and swell, faster now,
gravity bound flesh bearing witness to
treasures held in an elusive moment.

from below he watches as she leads,
in what is never fully grasped
but rather pushed into and thrown about.

so many revolutions in the turning of the wheel,
and bodies and perseverance succeed
where words fail, and words can never fully tell.

vortex (into the black)

down, down spiraling into the depths...no longer fearing the pain, but begrudging acceptance, an open wound to accompany you on an otherwise solitary journey. it clamps down, pushing against your chest, forcing out a torrent of tears, tears of longing, of regret, of acceptance, but never of consolation.

through many existences you have fought it, always nipping at your heels, but this time you turn to face, to challenge, even to mock it. because now you understand that the ecstatic heights of affection and oneness would not exist without these depths, and that truly they are one and the same.

you used to fear desolation, but now it seems your soul is big enough to feel it, your heart growing to embrace the hurt and surround it. so you feel, and feel, and feel, feeling your way through the night's blackness. and now it surrounds you, all emptiness and crushing weight, no goddess to save, or even bodhisattva to console you this time, going down taking with you only this one thing, the idea of love into the vortex.

(( vehicle ))

this body, this vehicle
used up and abandoned,
a car left at the side of the road.

and where is he now,
wandering in the night, no doubt,
looking to steal a new car.

and drive it somewhere else,
to new faces and places, yet in the back,
so many questions still.

and they're along for the ride,
quietly waiting, 'til the next time around,
or the next, or the next...

------------

este cuerpo, este vehículo
consumido y abandonado,
un coche se fue en el lado del camino.

y donde ahora está él,
vagando en la noche, está verdad,
mirada para robar un nuevo coche.

y él lo toma en alguna parte,
a las nuevas caras y a los lugares, con todo en las atras,
tan muchas preguntas a contestar

y están aquí para el viaje,
el esperar reservado hasta la próxima vez,
o el siguiente, o el siguiente…

* al dia *

riot police huddled on a side street,
wide-eyed fresh scrubbed faces
wrapped in kevlar and plexiglass.

the ancient aztec woman blows smoke
of copal in your face, every step a benidicion
in this city sinking into the earth.

looking down on calle moneda,
sunlight so bright and clear
through the eyes of a young cat.

sitting now in the still, espacio infinitum
of a leaning edifice, heaven above
the stones carved by untold hands.

symbols jumping across the distance
of time brand themselves on skin,
always, but never quite making the leap.

* esta noche *

a father banging the drum, playing the trumpet, watching his niña,
cool young studs in fashion gear standing by their shiny motocicletas,
couples fucking in backseat parked cars of darkened calles.

a tired mother, a smile to the little girl crying on the metro,
borrachos and the choque machine man wandering in the plaza,
the distracted policeman sending a text message from his platform.

children lighting fireworks on quiet midnight cobblestone streets,
a friend drinking pulque with a thousand years old cult of sacrifice,
breathing, feeling, dissolving, solo en el noche atras la catedral.

((addendum))

(the burning christmas tree) last night, the final night of this stay in mexico city, i walked down calle mixcalco toward my hotel. passing the plaza nuestro señora de san loreta, i stopped for a moment, to feel the air.

this favorite space, of all the many beautiful ones here, trashy and elegant. an ancient spanish baroque building leaning to the east, and like many of the structures here, literally sinking into the earth. the sense is of the ground breathing in and out.

a block away from the hotel, at the corner, i saw a flash of light in a huge pile of garbage on the street. seeming to spontaneously combust, a christmas tree spiked into the pile burst into flames on the empty street.

bewildered, it stopped me dead in my tracks...coming to my senses, i hustled into the hotel niza, the sound of the flames crackling in my ears.

+ bethlehem + (pt. i)

fever and nauseous, yet each day better,
no home, amazing simple kindness of friends,
no food no cry, empty and peace to all...

enjoying the crazed, chaotic, frenzied moment,
doesn't matter if the shopping gets done,
beautiful christmas lights of backed up traffic.

displaced hive of bees cut down, left at the side of the road,
load them in the trunk, buzzing energetically around your head,
grateful to be: one man's trash, another's treasure...

losing track of the days, you go to work on saturday
thinkin' it's friday, look up to vibrant lights and colors,
the quarter moon shines through early morning fog.

leave this body behind, this vessel bless it,
is sometimes a prison, subtle vibrations, pulse
of beating heart and lungs, freely received, free to let go...