Edgar Allan poet Journal #2

Page 68

THE ART OF UN/KNOWING Mind you: These words were not meant for your mouth~ This heart not meant for your Hands~ Anything made of such wonder was never meant for keeping~ Kiss insteadWith the breath of lingering departure~ Give the taste of divine leaving~ Whisper the glory of coming absence~ I do not own these words Just as you do not own their meanings~ Partake in the Perpetual joy…that you are…that minuscule~ You are…an atom within the great~ Seek not to solve mysteriesYield instead~ Lean Like stamen Toward The Fruit of Pollination~ Run ramped up the Stream of historical inkThrough the inebriated blood Of consciousness~ You are not a half In search of your other~ Look not with outward Eyes~ The treasures are not outside~ Perhaps our feet Chase stories of our previous lives~ A constant escape toward Reconciliation~ Prophecy comes from both living and dead~ Declared And scribed of fluid and ash~ We are all idols and idolaters~ Even the elements Seek to nourish and destroy each other~ How smoke strangles breath and how water Extinguishes fire~ Yet through the ground all things grow again~ Is this how sky communes with untouched heavens? Galaxy of stars combusting…igniting new worlds~ The sun sets like a pendulum as the tandem moon ascends~ Both kiss the sky in their fevers~ All is exaltation~ And I of my own breed of instinct and reflex~ This delusional thirst for un/knowing~ Spilling words of timelessness too great a concept to come only from the “i” of me~ Escapes my tongue leaving only the taste of silence~

leila a. F O R T I E R 68