East of Rancour

Strange how we
get caught in the spirals
of our selves

Strange how you can feel
absent, absent in yourself even,
but you’re not – you see –
you’re lost in the vortex,
the vortices, of (some) me ...
Didn’t you know that?
Tut tut ... not of you,
but of me. I should’ve told you -
foretold you.

Strange how we get
locked in the rightness of
our selves, the
wrong of each another

Now, that’s just silly.

Listen to the note of the
violin, the held note, and
hold to that – there’s no
wrongness there, no right;
it’s just the resonance of
self, truly, unknown,
unknowing, truly. It’s just
the you in me. It’s just the
me around you.
Rebel at that –
do I care? Truly?
You see ...
not hard, no performance
there ...

Okay, hold now – hold
to yourself – seond-born, first-
born, third- - does it matter?
Feel the core, nuclear rods,
apple pips, sour, sweet, bitter ...
Open your chords and sing,
sing out, queen of the night,
night-musick, little, lot,
and sense the ‘Fur Elise’
in you.

It’s those who are proud
in their humble, humble in their
proud, that have the way to say ...
well, hey!

You see, you see, and so
you come to me, oh yes,
and you say this will
not do and that needs to
be addressed – and, you know,
I do, I do do, as you
say ...

My eyes are swollen now –
a pressure there – a dark side
of the moon – hold back,
hold back, until I say.
There is no hurry,
no time-limits – the horizon is eternity –
no pressure there ...
Sleep and rest because
there is no here, no there,
no thou, no then, no waking
into a dull day, no piercing of the bubble,
no sinew to strengthen ...
it’s moved beyond that,
it has its own sweet sway.

To say that I can have being
if only another willed it,
another wished, wanted it,
is to deny your right – alone
and blind, proud – be proud
because you wished it –
tomorrow’s light and breath
are there for you because
you asked for them and
gave them their worth
and their sight.