Meditation in Seasons

Inspired by the works of Fryderyk Chopin, Salvador Dalí, and John Donne.

Meditation 1

I

How breezes tinge the riverside ridges
with cindering blends of rose-wrenched vintage
is fullness as it is in summertime loneliness

When neurons erode from echoic holiness;
How wind pulls some leaves over coldness of shoals
is peacefulness, emptiness without roars or parole,

Why these seasonal strains share none in coincidence
--one forgets the other, each recalls just itself--
is meridian divide on an earthquake span of sea,

bewildering as God (as to sometimes become God)
and already is a mania of mismemory,
like equivocal hues pre-dusk or post-dawn,

Where if one were just born, it could seem afternoon
or morning blue, this undetermined value
is each morning's misery and blur to me, why,

Angels or brain chemicals? Even if devils
caused these harmonies hallucinogenic,
at least thought would feel less enigmatic.

II

Encircling blusters smooth through the wilderness
for sweltering smears of crimsons and coppers,
distanced away within the air,

These, the Colour of God fraught in self-anxiety,
these knots of autumn imploded ambrosially
and already I'm late to remember

for comatose drones, their tidal cessation,
seascapes or evanescence and dispersal
are the snuffing-out and an equanimity

that won't take off from me; sometimes
in this maritime mist it's sparse to see
where is left and what is right,

God can I smell a haunt of rose?
It's not beyond but dendritically composed
and thus extincts as a body goes

Nor can I know reflection from shadow,
my shadow a devil, reflection's an angel,
while all a standard self's much brain chemical, chemical,

God the Nirvana, Headache of Happiness
reduces anatomically to pixels of stardust; I am the whole universe
coming to know itself carelessly,

Ovum, oaken, oasis and Ohm,
unknowable and unknown, Adam un-Eved and all atomed
that Psychology might solve me, quod erat demonstrandum

so that I a machine can process enlightenment's rerun,
an algorithmic clicking that makes me feel forgiven,
multiplex aloneness, appliance without choice

which still feels choice and that God chose him,
all's atoms all Adam'd that algorithm-as-pantheism
elects determinism--not God's--but our universe's sin.

III

Encirclings singe the riverine ridge
with sweltering smears of drank desert vintage,
leaked static of God caught in self-satiety,

all of bliss for a life which is ever lived lonely,
as a cub nestling close to the corpse of his mother,
unafraid of the world while he's able to feel her.

Meditation 2

What is silence,
But the hazels and sea-swells
Coiling in your iris?

Your emerald stare I’ve seen before
gilding wavecurls and fallwhirls
Or varying the tense of autumn’s torment
In the leaves, your eyes animate with permanence,
What rimless vacancies are more inclusive than they?

In each green inch lies coastal land miles
where migrations of wind roam restless through isles
foraging for meaning, finding beauty
ever unveiling--your eyes are everlasting exhale,
precious prisons of radiance, and yet they kept watch of me once
as I wept wretchedly in repentance.

Green willows, green coral coves, silhouettes of shadows
reported off the coasts, storms no one sees,
seashells swallowing seas, a future
faintly like photos and memories,
lime-lucid streams, lime-embittered words, the lyrical
death of images of carousels;
high tides, low tides, young and older brides,
mother, daughter, woman, wanderer,
together dormant into your eyes.

Your two eyes are two options, either
everything or everything; green, green rose
or aquamarine; Your two eyes
are three eyes, or no eyes, or all the wilderness of eyes
that spangle through a peacock tail,
They are stock exchange horizons
running sideways figures on womanly glory,

Green idyll-haunted veldts,
spherically filled with river-runs of flowers,
God blessed me by creating them
and allowing them to fill my hours.

Meditation 3

From swoons of solar wind a swan looms down,
Vast Crystalline universe trilled around her crown,
below her shadows spilling slow;--void rolls abreast her
absence as a death that demons know. Observer, observe her
Presence, blurry dance of bliss and blindness;--release
of winter's violence or a snowflake wandering off slow.
Celestial theater, smear essence everywhere of her,
leave obsidian-rim oceans desolate with soreness,
destroy our history, cease her harp-wrung moan
and words and thoughts from eras ago
won't be part of our past any more--
and taut falls her shadow.

She's aged, she's angel,
withholding winds of wide
eternity, with weathering wings
descends the waters scraped pale by
luster'd moon corona, remembering those
well crucifixated to telephone poles over faint miles
of road, saint statutes brimmed with murderers' brains
ever weeping by a tide--her passion to be transubstantiated by a
meat-hopper's shears, her compassion for creatures unable to elude an oven's
sear--all accelerated through her mind, so softly she stares, viewing blasphemous
obelisks, pyramidally hex of a sun--medium-rare shadows show samsara, nirvana as one.

Where among "Mystery, Babylon the Great" does Adam's creation rehearse its suicide? but
where a sorrowed swan appears purely and tressed, hoarse with thoughts of ages blessed,
thoughts towards a floral bride and her bouquet unloosed on a seaside,
of yellow-red rounds of leaf-falls dwindling over woodlands,
of amethyst and amaryllis hues over dry seas of areas,
of lightning slowly spilling on far era's sierras,
the loneliness of what it's like to see
the way God once had let things be,
--all skid through her mind,
so she weeps repentantly
and dotes upon her home
in isles she's yet to know:
everything, dear everything dies in Ohm.

To swoons of solar wind the downy swan resumes,
Edgelessness-edged universe re-arrange into its own tomb,
Beyond her molten sunset pours, panoramically an oblivion of agate,
rose and nightshade which an angel may adore--Witholder, withold her
forgiveness! The swan's last glance at providence, a slipknot's
ease rims paradise, a miscarriage rouses war--
Astral Theater, fill summertime,
wintertime and springtime
with the fallen brush of ash,
the apocalypse breaks its knell
and the swan weeps over revelations of
crematoriums in hell: and what do you say to a child
with the world in their eyes, but that the world's well?
Rainbows are really nothingness, that stretch around to nowhere.

Meditation 4

I

Know silence travels faster than light or sound,
Darting on seawaves to estuaries, pastorals, obituaries,

Silence, the shrapnel of God, scatters the universe,
harmonious luminescence over landscapes of nothingness . . .

and know, Italicized Amber Eyes, that my secret is a silence enough
or an echo of an echo of an echo just as much

that inwardly held accrues the many amounts of guilt
which shrivel the horizon line to a dot
and then far off center it

and if you could pluck out my neurons saturated
with this secret I'd still recall that I once
knew a secret of outstanding heinousness

and so the guilt would remain and I wouldn't know
what words when confessed could bring me ease.


II

Father, be the lucid explosion in my mind,
Burn clean my canyons of neurons until I hear nothing
Or let me hear stars ring on their rims one last time,

Merrier Mercy, you are so much destruction
That you only create: Recreate me and end the guilt
of my sin: starve me of, to suffocate me with, your beauty within.

Exile floods through my mind, never have I been less lonely
than womb-day, so Engineer of Edelweiss, chartreuse my
Universe and leave me with less to say,

Carpel Tunnel Syndrome slithers through the walls
Seeking to break my glass soul, so lovely Father, love
Holier than a lover and leave me no more,

for soon my own secret shall be everyone's secret
as obsidian palisades or alabaster balustrades
lace pons or aorta,

Not that they will know my secret
but that everyone will think that this secret
is only theirs

Not that they will console my pain
but that they will wish only for
someone to console their own.

III

Italicized amber eyes--

I wish God, to hide from me, had hid in me
and removed my guilt as far as east
is from the west,

What memories and happiness would then pass through me
if all this horrible guilt too did pass.