the feelings that move in me like slow kaleidoscopes
or the impressions of perfection that pierce my chest
and make me melt like taffy,
a bug tumbling in thick amber
or a child who’s jumped into a pool
shift all into perspective.
maybe it’s because of all my new perspective:
the admittance that the self is first
that pursuance of the perfect love is primary
and the brain, that smoothing operator
will construct a model to explain the way things are, whichever way.
and this is why, in every case
the right interpretation
is the one that makes you feel the best,
the one that sets you free
the one that speaks directly to your heart
that coats you in slow molasses
sends vast constellations rotating into place
and lulls you fast to sleep like a cat in sunbeam.
relief is palpable
when you again come to the truth,
the individual truth which dances
only for your eyes
and only in your mind
for you alone.
the waiting for companionship has held me back.
falsely i thought companionship was rightness
but now i see the process works the other way:
companionship comes from the soul
arises from adherence to the self
and this i had forgotten, stored away in plain abstraction
from that time so long ago when i had done it last;
when i sent out my radio signals to the universe,
when i aligned the world around me into fields of iron filings,
when in tranquility of mind and power of the spirit
i summoned up the one whose recollection
can soak me through
like sweet molasses.