It’s Time

We try numerous ways
to wrap our verbal minds around it —
that which even the muse of annihilation
cannot imagine, arises now as the reflection
of itself, revolves moon-like in mysterious orbit
around the dark matter which witnesses indifferently
all such transparent holographic displays, itself already
melting into the unknown, unseen source of its own
altitude, already cavalcading in a fine romance of
lyrical logs which burst into wordless blossoms
of light, right on schedule, and in lieu of such
magnificent rhapsodies, such grand rafts
of echoing suchness, even the demon
of poetry, that clown, realizes
it’s time to close up shop.


About Bob OHearn

My name is Bob O'Hearn, and I live with my Beloved Mate, Mazie, in the foothills of the Northern California Sierra Nevada Mountains. I have several other sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: Essays on the Conscious Process: Poetry and Prosetry: Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: Thank You!
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