EDGAR CAYCE

Image by ladyeleanor from Pixabay

contemplate origins like wading 
where it's dark but not completely silent

what does it sound like is it the hum
of a grassy field of crickets in unison

when you close your eyes do you see the key
when it turns do you let it happen or do you

shut out the memories deciding that you are not
a repository and that memory should be finite

you might say to yourself I'll come back
to this place when I'm ready but you know

you might never be ready only the strong can slipstream
darting through past lives crashing like a wave

besides other mental structures are fortified daily
bricks taken out all painted a horrifying shade of beige

so you run in circles to forget and become numb
to the eyes to the reigning unconscious become

as one without thought or rage or ambition become
mollified let the illusion mimic those first sounds

rabbit eared dominant frequency like a space opera
warm in the loving embrace of our bug god overlords

The People of The Rock

the smooth

solid

rock

physical form of

the law

the people of the rock

worship

perfection

the universe was willed into existence

the universe was willed into existence

from the nothing

the black

emerged a breath

a sigh

a flash of light

a terrible crash

like the earth being torn in two

the lotus on the

still black water

Many Worlds

born of the mountain

brought to the river

swallowed by nothing

eyes peer out

over a starless sky

Colorblind

hidden behind the mists of time

yellow hats on satin pillows

dole out a peculiar form of justice

more concerned with balance

than what is right

and what is wrong

Origin

salt stained bones of pilgrims

who thought the end was the beginning

oh holy mountain

oh sacred river

oh primal cave

Ashen Ruin

The old man weeps

but even his tears

wont restore

what the flames destroyed

bending time

crisp air stings my lungs and I know

its fall again in Ohio stubborn leaves cling to

 

ground the green washed away replaced

by brown and gold brittle memories snow

 

in the forecast for Halloween another

year another decade and I’m stuck like

 

I was at the turn of the last decade I thought

time changed iron bars to silk strings like

 

motion reflected in pools of water collecting

in a rain storm wind blowing changing

 

leaves green topcoat with red vestments like

the universal soul marching into a new sun

building eco-systems of the future, today!

cities of tomorrow where it’s your own little commune a simulation of a small town

feel because it’s been built that way to have restaurants  micro-breweries  dog parks

human parks  movie theaters  barbershops and salons  comedy clubs

 

(but remember this

multi-national corporations laid stakes into public land

to expand stock prices of multi-national corporations (the shareholders included)

 

to employ workers for a pittance,

to clean the shiny new bank-financed surfaces

that somehow the tax payer is probably fitting the bill for

 

workers who will happily drive

throughout greater metropolitan areas

for a job with shitty hours and few benefits

nutrition is the invisible battleground

Crave-ability profiteers are just following orders

Orders that say bodies in lower income areas deserve poisoned

 

Water bodies in lower income areas deserve strip mall fast food that fattens

Pockets bodies that deserve to be poisoned by the easy food bodies that deserve

 

Poisoned air in Ohio sanitized streets provide toxic sludge

In Ohio who benefits from poisoned bodies

Oxidized

Leaving Kent Ohio Summer skunk blue sky divides asphalt

No evidence of existence of decay blottted out billboards rust

Asking me to come to Jesus

 

When sanitized stink is the order of the day razed and relocated

Cratered highway reminds me of home Ohio having the problems

 

Of post-industrial places

 

Location

(trick is

Expand the circle

(it shrinks location

 

value is principle built

(in practice

of ideas discarded

in open spaces            in open piles   in open patchwork

 

independent rags

of the marketplace     (surplus

waning and waxing loyalties to humanity

I wonder if that is the point—get used to a lack of privacy get used to living in public

get used to living on a razor’s edge get used to extra shades of paranoia get used

 

bruised buried skeletons demand warm sunlight—stage to dance on audience to yawn

through their tears

 

blind demand sight two working eyes not content with sleight of hand tricks

been through this before—seen how the magicians unmasked visage rises in

 

pitch timbre quavering shake off

the fever get used to mantra—out of sight

of mind silent spring with no birdsong privilege takes center stage as fever rages

 

subsides as morning peeks through the shade and I roll over on my side with dollar signs

that wear my eyes