Written by Daniel Milbo on February 25, 2021 at 2:27pm

Topography of Balance

I am here between.
Through the door and into the never-seen,
The sun and the moon scream their name,
But I have no mouth, no taste for the same
No appetite to taste
No concepts to waste
my simplicity and being.

We call this place Balance.

Where the door did open to,
And I relaxed into, and let through,
Those dark photons that dance into me
And let me see the three and ev er y
Leaf and vein of this musky jungle
The trees bending, con descending
No innocence of buds or spritely play
Just sepals shed, green into red, an an an damide
ejaculation of blooming, molting, emerging
into a full spectrum of burning,
a brilliance and scintillation from
those congealed sappy gemstones,
heady and heavy dripping from hung fruit
into the cleft.

Time has no meaning here.

Even less names, those agents of the entitled,
Even less words, these regents of nonsense,
whose authority comes from its own clothes,
such a drab, tautological hue to be embellished with,
come with me, be free, and relea se
such a landscape for its darker underworld
swirled and swirling, intoxicating, reverberating,
resonating, swaddling, embracing, sinking into
a e i o