Electric Weave

Electric Weave


This silk web we've weaved
electrical and neon fibers,

ultraviolet euphoria,
then the spectrum fanning out-

that connects us poetically;
to this change.

We resist with the strength of steel
what we wish was naught,

and we are countered with that same
strength.

An internalized revolution of words that threatens to balance scales,
sweeps across and gets tangled in source, as it enters the external world- of
what’s: actually in place of what should be.


It becomes both, the predator and the prey- in it’s fight,
and the polar air that surrounds both
holding up their shapes.

We are lovely fruits ready for consumption,

gathered at the bases of iris stems
and crushed green leaves,

under short wide trees, and rotting rubble, catching whatever illumination
we can before we return to where we came.

Because saffron sunlight turns to black,
and someday- it won't return again.

The womb and the stomach are the same,
we are eternally in need, until we are nothing.

We're-

-Digested in the belly of creation,
and of likely- destruction’s potence too.

You see?
Love, is not meant to be worked,

like wood or metal-
into something manipulated, made into something unnatural.

Love is, the natural unworked state of the metal or wood-
left deep within the earth, or in the cores of trees
- that is love.

We are not hate filled beings, we aren’t-
our worst nightmares, not really;

we are waiting on a love-
To be unearthed within us, to nourish our fears.

We are like tender fruit split in half-
to reveal its one of a kind galaxy pattern of seeds within,

take one half away-
and it is unbalanced for the rest of its time

there is not another with it's exact same shape, but if the mirroring pattern,
were returned, puzzled in place- it becomes whole again.

Nothing can be taken, only misplaced.

These webs we weave need to catch our platinum dreams-
before they flutter away with the falsism of sight,
to realize the power we hold over the modern world

when the imagined becomes more
than the real ever hoped for.

This love, is the change we need to become,
in order for future succession to be.

It's alright-
to fall to pieces,
there is nothing to fear-

in here, or out there,

So-

scatter and gather,
and start over.

because,

this life is too brief to really contain all that
we really are.