TO SEE
To see
as I see you,
through beetle eyes—
mosaic percussion
of hundred incarnations,
to see,
as I see you
through strange beetle eyes—
like
strange art
on cryptic flowers,
strange streaks
at strange places.
TO THINK
Like the one
who sits cowered
in the haunt
of the anticipated halt,
mind riveting
like a forced swing,
head synchronized
with the ejaculating bus,
the light of creatures
and things,
passing
in and out
as it follows
the routine of the road,
smiling inadvertently,
smiling
as it comes and goes,
to think
every walk,
a walk unto you,
every creature—your manifestation,
every lifeless thing—only your ability
to extract life,
each destination—a premonition,
to a walk
beyond and farther,
and to strip away
all thinking
as the halt draws near
and thereby
becomes unchangeable.
TO DANCE
As I say, “dance,”
to let
in to the rite of a circle,
as it carves
its three dimensional niche,
focusing in
and out of eyes
fixed upon circles
emanating farther,
letting limbs
toss into
waltzing hollowness,
to tip the ripple,
down to
the tip of the feet,
and spin,
in a smaller circle,
as if to flap
before levitation,
and to raise a bewitched head,
above the circle,
and look
beyond the
emanating circles,
going
flap, flap, flap.
