Love's Debris

For Etta James and Johnny Otis upon their passing

When I was nothing more than love’s debris
Then I never wanted to be set free
There were many rivers to cross
Daunting mountains of silver and dross
Before pale return
To mournful reality tossed
Aside the educated guesses of
My horrified refinement
Trained nothing more than
My atavistic confinement
Skipping like stones over
The oceans of boil
The gleam of which
Twitched, ripped, and roiled
The figures of illusion out
Without a doubt
Given the proper preparation
Even raging infernos
Can make ashen landscapes
Feel like a home and a haven
Within my dome I’m slaving
To
The dark elements
Can purge the last recital
And the last recital
Can shatter the star
And open the portal
But I don’t have the time
And yet I have the infinity of time
I’m working on the roots, shoots, and tendrils
Of something far beyond sublime
You’ve heard it yourself
In quiet scared little peeps
The 3:00 a.m. knocking of elite little treats
Wrecked, rocked, struck, and struck again
Like distant misted quivering
Grey horizon diaphragms
Quickness is a virtue
Slowness is a vice
And the quickness of water
Is solidified as ice
Ice expanding destroys all cells
Blood expanding rocks the bells
The body ripped asunder
Shoots over, beyond, and under
To shoot the moon
Beat the boom
And catch up with leonine room
Of the universe at external gates
Infinite yet expanding
At extraordinary rates
With practice you can catch up
To that liminal realm
And pass through it like child’s play
Light years ago
Yesterday, tomorrow, and today
Swirled, squirreled, and served up
On a tray
Like a mid-morning snack
For the gods at play