262. These Wings (Myshkin, 2023) · free verse

These wings on my back, They must have grown overnight. Two, three days ago it was same-same And then the path to the stars just opened. No explanation, no rhyme or reason, But now I see it all. Or most. Or most of all. Seriousness went away, or at least went hiding. The music playing inside my heart is loud, So loud that someone must be calling the cops. Disturbing the outer lack of peace! With my rhythmic and melodic inner stillness. To hold my own heart in the palm of my hand, With love, with care, with loving care… Why else would we be here, specks of dust And pieces of broken stars from eons ago? I love a good ramble. Oh-so-many stories to tell, That start with when and end with I-don’t-know. The yellow fog is coming. I can taste it already, Slow slithering stench, the serpent that was Always very much needed, so that we, I, could have The ecstasy of unity and insight. Again! Then forget, then again. Dancing with time, Time bends me around her little finger, And I o-bey, like a lovingly trained puppy. Let me lose the thing I want most in the world, The key in the darkness, the all-consuming love That I never quite found. Or found but was too lost, Too dense to recognize… Ah, the loneliness! So now I stand alone, full of sweet nothings, Sharing them with no one and everyone. Would that someone was listening, breathing  With me, in-out, in-out, essence of “of.” God, I love Art! And Art, I love God, Who only wants Me, Us, To let Him, Her, Love us without cause. There is so much sensation. The band  Is playing loud again, and tuning forks Are vibing all around. And even small Boring things, mail, laundry, are so precious When the gravity, the need for fake sanity, Is gone. Good riddance! And welcome back…