"The door is a little small."
"Bend over," she replies,
"Open the door,
just a little;
a little is all it takes
and then a journey,
inside out.
Or outside in?
Grow larger, rise, waver, lift your head,
like a plant seeking sun, the truth ---
twist the doorknob
that parts, two folds of flesh,
soft and pliant, and wet.
Enter, she commands;
I listen and put on my hat and enter,
wet, and find illumination
in a deep chamber,
a red light that wails
like a scream -
men in suits rush to watch
the screens, that display
thumping hearts:
one perforated
and bright hope is streaming
from its wound.
YOU ARE READING
Your Hands, Infinity: A Collection of Poetry
PoetryA collection of poetry for the Soul, for the Spirit, of the Cosmos, and of the Universal, of the Divine and our Consciousness, of a Friend and a Lover, to open a window in the heart and set ourselves free. Having been inspired by many visionary poet...
