hunger's angel
rolling thunder | a poem
through and through.
me and you.
outside and in.
the pull. the collision.
breaking together.
coming apart.
emergent phenomena.
all of this
— these opposites,
a way to focus.
verse by verse
chorus by chorus
a bridge to the
intervals
a space between the edges of
breathing this feeling.
there is an edge i return to.
it is soft, almost indiscernible
tenderness, quaking,
gasping for another taste,
a gentle sadness dissolving.
the need,
building
a home inside me
— you.
you. you.
stop a moment.
feel this opening.
can’t you
help me out of this skin?
melt this flesh, tenderise it. make these bones
pliable as taffy, and sweet, too. touched with
salt water. can’t you help me
breathe as deep as i need
to feel everything, and more still?
more you. more you.
moor us to this bridge.
can’t we stay here a moment more?
can’t we let the current wash us of time
and just be in the space beneath?
falling into whatever this is —
openness,
a web of invisible caresses
lapping at entryways
draped of the tenderest pink.
stay. stay. stay.
there is a storm approaching.
best take shelter in
darkened caves.
no way of escaping this
thunder
rolling through an ocean.
i beg you keep moving, but slower,
slower. almost no movement
whatsoever — be gentle with this liferaft —
be sure she’s full, but not too much.
release the pressure till there’s
just enough give to
mold to the current’s shape.
this, my darling, is the secret place.
the space between space.
formless form. shapeless shape.
the darkest hour.
without reason
without cause.
— here.
just take what is given,
this wave
yours and yours and
nobody’s claimed it.
— here.
feel this, you,
frightened thing
of brilliant mysteries.
feel. feel. feel
you’re always here,
aren’t you?
not you.
not me.
who?"we don’t notice anything for which we can’t see a limit" — alan watts
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Beautiful, Faye.
"this, my darling, is the secret place.
the space between space.
formless form. shapeless shape.
the darkest hour.
without reason
without cause.
— here.
just take what is given,
this wave
yours and yours and
nobody’s claimed it."
So... This crackles... And when words spark like that... makes you wonder where the spark is coming from.
I appreciate the way you give a nod to the spaces in between... More Alan Watts... If it weren't for the space in between we wouldn't be able to distinguish anything at all.
I don't see any way that the spark can come from the stuff. The stuff has to come from the spark. The spark was always there and always will be there. The forms change. They always have. They always will.
Sounds like you are familiar with the heart sutra? Emptiness is from. Form is emptiness?
Paradoxical mumbo jumbo maybe. Sometimes it feels like it makes sense though.