Autonomous Return

Autonomous Return

The great bland bliss lets slip the lips and

Sees the beginning and again emerges full,

Replete, ready for reactions.

Fullness is an element of emptiness.

Scaffold of the flux,

train schedule for marbles spilled on the floor.

Hurry hurry to get the words out, get the words out.

Hurry as the air goes out

As the old balloon crimples and pads sadly on the floor.

The unicorns are coming with their tiny heads and horns.

Our little nose blowers.

A blue snow cone.

Electric wires over head.

Hurry, hurry. Get the words out!

The day is becoming the day.

Get the words out about the night.

About the passage below the rains

The rinse polluting down stream with its foam lapping up against the rocks.

Something similar was here a thousand years ago,

There in the grass, seeming to last a long time.

I swallowed seven pins and worried about internal bleeding.

I gave up on ever seeing cranes again.

I began looking everywhere for validation, for resonance, for

The sound of hands and feet and talking and traffic.

Guest surveyors walked the yard.

Renters strung up their laundry from the windows like a tenement or a web.

Absolute power is the water’s or the wind’s or the

Whistle of words in so many lungs moving.

By Rolf Stavig, 03-06-2013

Rolf's Poems and Pictures