and the beat goes on . . .

butt naked and knee deep
in the little brokenstraw. my
heated bones are cooling, my
blood no longer boiling, my
ballocks twisted by this rambling
ebb. i have plummeted into its
aroma and surrendered to a
bouquet of the splendid rill. my
empty senses are born again,
singing loud with the leaves and
dancing with leeches around my
feet. this is my sanctuary from
the wise, my escape from the
masters of logic. their curse has
been taken away to a deeper
sea. my tranquility hides in the
narrow leaf cattails. the chorus
of the peepers soothes any
hallucinations of castles in the
sky. here i write the testimony of
my temperament and
indifference, of country roads
and fast lanes. my eyes imitate
the twilight of the night. each
breath i take is a star rising in the
east and setting in the west. i
feel my imperfections as i feel
the beat of the heart sutra.

One thought on “and the beat goes on . . .”

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