he walks the grid,
careful of where he steps.
–it quivers…
the point is to keep moving, as
content arises only where motion ceases.

to elaborate would be to yield to the multiplicity
which brought me near to here.
with all due respect,
I’ll walk  the rest of the passage alone,
knowing no concern for losing the way.

wrinkle his mind in the nick of time:
imagination tries to smooth the convoluted universe,
while one Attempting finds the mountain of
understanding to be full of inviting slopes and moguls.
(at once head over heels,
ruined
and unconcerned.)

he never has ‘problems’,
but didn’t realize it until
‘problems’ didn’t have him.

buddha bellies empty of mind,
now able to hold all tastes before them.
buddha bellies full of Mind
teach us to indulge in the feast.
(such a short time before the tables are cleared.)

balancing in mid trip —
that is the ironic,
yet equanimical,  
paradox of our Effort.

he laughs first thing.  hah! 
what counts is to be able
to laugh as the last thing…..

(note: in no way is it intended that this incautious declaration contravene or even slightly impugn those who insist on laughing first or  those who diligently strive to practice both laughing positions, although it is well understood that the latter practice is fraught with the possibility that the sedentary part of one’s mind will consider the more adventuresome part even more suspect.)

thoughts can shrink a world by grabbing
at drifting motes with sweaty palms and turning
the churning into the mud that cakes the mind.
but that glaze can be brittlized with enough internal heat…
cracked and sliding, the background separates–
a taking away toward clarity.

to chase a figure of speech is much like seeking a “better” way to follow your aim,
yet chasing only creates a chase. 
it’s not– ‘how would you recognize the quarry?’ 
but rather,  ’why do you acknowledge and sustain the hunter?

listen.
all is quiet out here, except
for  faux haiku ocasionally tromping in.
(where are slippers for its syllables?)

without breaking the water,
I swim the pond
of no shores.
my backstroke leaves
behind all senses.

remaining self,
not even damp.

the kids go in and out the dog door.
there is barely a distinction.
in here, out there.
it could be raining, but it is not.
their coming and going has no barriers.
consciousness likewise.
all is coming and going.

I have to say, it seems much more clear, precise and direct to speak of ‘climbing the one pointed mountain of serene effort and stepping off into the void of pure namelessness’, or ‘to resolutely have your nervous system walk the rocky road through illusion until one is able to turn the brain’s listening-to-itself-ability into a watching-the-speaking-part-ability, form bare attention, and see into the process that imprisons you and keeps you believing you are asleep’.  Yet..and yet,  it is simplicity that eludes the net of reason and begs another type of invasive consideration…

everywhere pineness.
yet the maples take no offense.

mouth the words as if they were a last meal, and taste, no consequence. 
only some small nourishment be one’s tangible aim, however transient.

tweaking the riff raff of his allusions,
now he, nay, his pen is pumped.
thus to dive once more into those
inflatable words. ..
damn the torpid, full speed ahead.

he takes the archers stance,
pulling taunt while relaxed,
aiming without looking,
releasing without letting go. 
he does not miss.
everywhere his arrow could possibly be, the target lives.

to discriminate or not?
it’s barely a question.
naturally, it appears obvious
until you find your acumen
is mere bias,
and acceptance has swallowed your dictionary.
(to differentiate between self and other
is way too formal an affair…)

as you pack the world in your lunchbox,
use your tongue for tasting, and not
for describing your meal

the cry of PENCIL!  preceded
the felling of tall considerations. 
they noisily landed on the paper,
crushing any previously residing there.

all fall I have walked
my yard, observing all
possible nuance.
not once did I remember
the summer mowing.
coolness cools, and
erases.

almost undressed.
one piece every few seconds.
pretty cool carpet-layer,
ever a maple though, still teaching
fall semester to whoever attends.

green leaves.
yellow and reds
arrive,

all fall.

he used to say, “stand back, fool!”
when he thought only he could hear.
but Life hesitated, turned, and looked around,
slaying all foolishness.

I found ready pressure.
forget the description.
it worked
by not letting it work.
there is a good lesson here:
     know what evades and releases the stress.
     then stomp on it, break it into several places.
     then enjoy the stress.
     it bears you gifts from afar.

cascading words tumble on to the page;
he could just as well catch them with his mouth,
but how could he take his name off his mouth?

he says ‘he’ or ‘I’ throughout the travelogue,
but it isn’t himself that is spoken of.
     we take some simple handle, such as a pronoun,
     and forget it is just that.
                    and soon it’s carrying the weight of the earth.

the lines are long, but all are compliant.
no mere flu shots here, all injections are free.
a daily dosage of word and image–
the jones fixed till next time.
they leave contented
with practiced frowns.

someone asked if I can cook.
I had to turn away and giggle.
I see only food.  I be only oven.

significance is a can opener.
unlocks, decontainerizes.
there is stuff here, and I am here
with that stuff, and I know I am
here with that stuff.
all is a significant presentation,
that computer speaker, that lamp,
that lady bug, that roach, that coffee
cu-excuse me, there is something
with extra significance that begs
attention….

things don’t smell
as strong in the cold.
is it my nose or
are fragrances water soluble
and ice up on the way?

ever noticed those cheap, extra thin
restaurant napkins?
they are embossed with little bumps
to make them feel thicker.
actually, because of the bumps,
they are ‘thicker’…
seems like my mind plays the same trick…