Friday, March 25, 2011

Bubble Babies

Bubble babies sometimes drift into the psychic sky –
precipitants precipitately wash the inner eye –

they come to touch identity; that is, when they’re allowed:
summoned by some drum, their soft collective cloud

of influence – precise and light, unsentimental –
permeates and lifts resistance to the elemental:

gathers up the static of self-scrutiny, and pulls it
into something sleeker – a little freer of the bullshit.

Slowly, knotted tangles evanesce a bit: don’t vex
quite the way they used to about aging, death and sex.


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