A Liturgy of Lull

 A Liturgy of Lull

(a meditation between exhaustion and anticipation)

"Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. ...
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. ...
Where is the Life we have lost in living?" (T.S. Eliot- various quotes)

I. Cilantro

Join my feet
  in a beat
    and a song—

a perilous journey
    of precipice
      and fall.

Whispering silence
      echoes
in the dawn.

Fleeting shadows
stretch—
eternal
   and long.

Hollow joy clings
  to fading light,
timid thunder hums
   softly
     in the velvet night.

Quiet chaos
   dances.
Cold fire
    flickers—
      a truth undefined.

A fractured gaze
meets broken infinity;
silent screams
wander through
a muted maze.

Bittersweet thought
    drips
   from the edge of mind.

Frozen movement
   on a brittle ledge.

Dreams in flight.
Sleepy awakening.

Heavy light
   pierces
      the night.

Twisted clarity
in blurred lines.
Stark softness
   where chaos aligns.

Faded brilliance—
    a muted gleam.
Anxious calm
    within the waking dream.

Lucid haze,
  a restless state.
Fragile strength
  behind
     a bolted gate.

Dull wine
  whispers
     what will be—

waiting urgency,
   destiny’s decree.

Anticipated mutation:
      unseen
        unknown.

A shifting world
    within my soul—

    alone.

II. Ahi

Strange realities
    welcome this dawn
where I meet
  the shadow
    of my former self.

“I remember you,” I say.
      “Where did you go?”

...
"You know...
  you know...
    you know."

III. Sesame

The temptation:
flee.
withdraw.
retreat.
    Escape.

Into communal monasteries
of mysticism and austerity—

“Cleanliness... Godliness...”
   they say.

But barbarians
have tracked buffalo trails
    across the marble floors.

Rot.
   Refuse.
Decay
    with
      a touch of Copenhagen.

The end of the West
smells faintly
      like half price scented candles that never sell.

IV. Avocado

But running from the dark—
    doesn’t work.
Because I can’t
    get away
      from myself.

Sin clings
like a 5 o’clock shadow
   on an unshaven Monday.

Gravity draws me
down—
   to lie still
   and spoon.

I haven’t had bread
    in many months.
No lamp.
No light.

No rule.

Knowing
  and
    Doing—

Are estranged brothers,
    who no longer speak.

And nothing lasts.
   Nothing holds.

...
     Except:

the grace
beneath
  my shoes.

Ask me dangerous......

"In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.



I do not think that they will sing to me."