Thursday, August 25, 2011

midnight Kinhin


rivers of the mind,
float me out to Wolfe lake,
on the moon stained waves,
where I can sink to the bottom,
and count the ragged bones of dead men,
bind them up in fishing line,
and throw them on the fire light,
made of crackling flames,
like a heart pounding in a dark city night...

...down the hall now,

of Derbyshire Lodge,
following the abbot,
he looks like Old Olie,
but walks too fast to tell,
but I know where we are going,
hard through the thicket,
of the hammering hospital headaches,
I know where we are going,
past an open grave,
past an old empty stage,
up the mountain,
to see the sage,
who will ask you,
to ask yourself,
the unanswerable question...









3 comments:

Old Ollie said...

Kinhin is toughest at Wolfe Lake.

dim said...

i don't comment often, but just wanted to let you know I appreciate you commenting on my work.

i'm still reading you, i just wanted to let you know it.

Square Corner said...

There is an appealing mystery to this darkness. I feel enlightened. Nice job.