a long nerve leaping out of its sheath

not around or about anything
but held within
the free-fall logic of chaos

the life-blood’s explosion

not just in each flung absolute droplet
but in the fall
infolding its ragged scattering

plunging through the clutch of shape

plummeting through the sphincters
lustily resonant
it births at the brink

into the abyss of itself

before flow before rock
boiling into vortices
into the blown-out spray where dragons laugh

as if there's a thread of freedom

and it’s pouring through an abandonment
that becomes full-bellied
like a round-bottomed pitcher

filling bearing emptying

but mine is the work within the burning dust
to sense that completeness
for a cold clear axis

where the stand is true

without hope

or hunger

From: Travels in the Middle Land, Dhamma Moon, 2013.

Posted: Tue 17 Nov, 2009