The Brooklyn Rail

blue calligraphy

just when i feel light enough
to open up a stream of words

a letter because my favorite
intimacy is letters

a drone   says
sometimes you exceed my
communication bandwidth

& the free thing in me wanes

or if not wanes leaks out
like in the movies

—my water broke

a portal opens because time
if you recall       is not linear

it moves in simultaneous
spinning arcs all at once

once i was a woman so deep
in love with herself she could

no longer bear the noise
of external interference

in the middle of her life
she better be beginning

the next scene a
black poet
says

god i love your letters

& the free thing in me
sways

in the ineffable

i muse to is
but this mass
is survival
grief resting
right below fear
and anger two
steps above

it wasn’t a
corporate ladder
i was on

but a map of
consciousness

as spirit calls out levels
of existence
it is coiling
in a black field
it is highly purple emanating
this            is an illusion
vibrate higher

but none of them can sense it
at the bottom of the plot
process is red hot
aggressive
body bagging knuck if you buck
or what is
an ass beating first thing
in the mourning

purple compound

beyond reason light curves exalted
frames of motivation

i wanted to speak with higher beings

in the material they were still reasoning
about being

as if the current five-thousand years
were nothing

when the signal lifted i was touching

where the seams touch

recalling life golden and untouchable

out
and gone

i no longer was
a frame of thought
i think they thought i was metaphori-
cally predisposed

what i said was we want poems that
love
and vines of dancing fuchsia
i said it
because the lower world
was gripping its manifestoes

because i could not say please die a
thousand times
come back brighter i could have
simply said
come
but
what i meant was light
what i was saying since no one seems

to understand riddles poems
or even read anymore what i was
saying
was please
raise your consciousness