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Poetry > Words of Our Own

Words of Our Own

 

Published 1/30/2008

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To explain his inspiration for this poem, native Detroiter Ron Allen writes via e-mail from his Buddhist community home in Los Angeles:

take me to the water and wash me down. a cryptic fantastic moment in the mind. looking into the full occurred self as prophet. the moment as light a copious whole that speaks in whole mind realization. in the revamped mesmerized mystic authenticity, a poem. this comes from a leg raised, an arm folded, an eye blinked, an expressed high communication. light.


The underbelly of light/ a funky brain of the mouth
by Ron Allen

The light began as the whirling gradient of mystical mind, the immutable sidereal of the fermented matrix we call reality. The light conjoined with the dark a binary percussive feat of anal purging priest the Buddha the Christ .what is this whirling feast of undulating might and a seeming ratio of openness and truth. This light ,a dialectic in the jaw of god or is it god itself a thick possibility of misery and granite love in the brackish form of humanity. This light of the jungle prophet horticultural genius of the swimming war of ancillary sacred impulse and polemical resolution . a hip dig of truth. The light is las vegas brandishing the gun of the rotted tongue of mortality ,banal sex and copious fear tantamount to the maoist revolt of flesh. The light revolt of the elaborate the limitations of the body ,the liquid foreign soil of blood the inebriated trip of legba. Feigning of fire, the secret smell of Lucifer . the outback stink of the resuscitated dream of Brahman , the kindling warm of krishnas breathed in the funk of public enemy . the light is fraught with the shadow of the human soul a rodeo trip of clannish root mysticism in the opulent

Frame of cities. The asphalt light genuflects in the aisle of consciousness and work. The grind of bone in the superhighway of grotesque information.this is the scientist foreign if the organic swim of the unnatural the potent swim of Socrates in the brittle jaw of the cave heretic of cyberspace.

The moan is still remarkable the irrational scream t the back of the throat. In mind eye a triumphant

Shrill cry it is the still birth of light.

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