April 28

Newton and the Mystics

Like a scream burned into my brain
that is to say a wet whisper in your belly

We’ve been told each action (paralyzed
swing, silent speech), breeds its mirror

So Christ, with his flare for sacrifice
breeds a simultaneous selfishness

Buddha, opening his eyes to suffering
stands back to face the blindness

Those who seek joy breed anger
and those who breed love seed hate.

God loves the archangel who, in jealousy
fell (result of God-pride). But what bubbled

up from that, from us, our eagerness
to live in lazy hate. On some Wednesdays

I sit still, hoping to bring about nothing
but thoughts have no lids, or I itch

or someone has a question. Answering
I rear ignorance. In not moving cause

accident. I long to smell the bent
metal, something crumbled straight.

In my quest, I foster confusion
praying to the imperfect to bless

me with the curse of synesthesia
and the resulting calm and clarity.

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