i.

So you reckon you’re ready—
tongue-rapid, tone-tripping—
to greet the mystery itself, word-burdened,
listening to that one young forever
when they tell of existences unknown
ahead, asking who speaks
about spacious destinies,
the kindred capacities, kindling life
that each day through god’s glory
may birth endless miracle
to serve waves of humanity. (1–7)

Each one a token true-seen
to that one whose wisdom
widens the whole world to them,
kenning in chest, mind-marking
what so many lengthy days,
cropped with mindful craft,
with singings, these souls
often twisted tales forth,
the nervy bastards —
they correctly comprehended
how to pronounce it —
what always the inquiring type,
what the whispering cleverness
demands you do —
ever minding the most & mighty. (8–16)

So you best ask, you deep-hearted someone
who dwells in daring, ask of hidden relics,
best get scribbling in your spaces
the skills of a treasury of words
folding them up in the soul’s closet—
think it forth bravely. (17–20)

Don’t let it weary the receiver
to rectify it all, wisely, the world.
Learn what’s taught.
I’m telling you in rapid fire
of the meter’s forward strut
greater than you, son —
than anything you can clutch
in your chest, though your tongue may trip —
Will it be enough?  (21–26)

There is no measure of the human,
from those stirring upon the earth —
nothing that can be used to explore any further
the highness of works within the heart —
than what the master grants them
to mind-grabble god’s own pronunciation.
Still we must give respect to the real prince
always to ever, for what the always king
cares to hand out, in their shine of soul,
so we can climb up higher so easily
to the upwards realm, if our starch suffices
our spirits and we hope to keep hold
of the speech of a lofty lord. (27–36)

 

ii.

Hear it now, this song uplifting
and nail down your needs.
What, at the start of the starting,
the every-mighty father,
the high ward of hoards,
what’s up and what’s here,
the beds of broad oceans —
can’t you see it everywhere —
what now lies in fetters
through that one’s hand,
shall heighten and heave
this sacred blossom. (37–42)

And so everything clumps together,
they who sees it knows it,
every bit its other,
everything must bear
its persuasive pushing,
just as the steerer steers them,
their myriad possibilities,
their own greatening truth. (43–46)

So they ferry the shine
back into the world,
the multitude of the master
and the majesty of makings,
incandescent in praise
in their lengthy seasons,
mouthing the words in truth,
of the limitless leader
on the spot it all went down
where the first sat himself down,
impeccable watch of heaven,
holding it eagerly, limming oceans—
the possibilities streaking forth,
a twinkling in the sky
and rustling in the waves,
the landlord of life
laps and leads all of entirety
into their one big arm. (47–56)

By the breadth of breathing
standing for them as glory,
of every referee the most rightful
who sculpted living here, right here for us —
and the brilliance of illumination
rippling forth each & every morning
over the bulwarks of dark mist,
wading through water,
fierce in the fabulous —
it snows down from the east at daybreak,
sparkling, sweet-fast, for this trudge of kind. (57–63)

Glow birthed for everything living,
brightest brands, and they are allowed
to exult in its ownership,
all creatures on earth,
which they are happy to share,
the vision of sight,
the ruler in fact, ruler of the win. (64–7)

Into westerly aboves it turns
at that moment, dripping in glory,
its fame known ahead, a star,
a sun traversing in fellowship,
until it evens out of the speared waves,
pathing the playgrounds,
crashing across the gloom.
Night spreads after, holding
the ordaining principle
of this sacred lord.
Heaven-bright heavens
incited into illumination
into god-like makings
beneath the fathoming fold,
our wandering star. (67–75)

Therefore there ain’t a bean
on this planet who lives
solely by wisdom —
who can foresee their fountaining
by their own powers alone,
how the hammered gold of suns
gallops across these grounds,
into the darkening of darkness
below the writhing of waters —
or who among these land-dwellers
should be allowed to luxuriate
in their own light,
once the candle huffles off
over the oceans. (76–81)

Again, it clumps together, and
they who sees it still knows it,
day parleys with night,
the depths exchange with the heights,
the toss with the tides,
the land gives back to water,
floods flow together with floods,
fish circulate with waves.
The work never weakens,
what’s cradled so well —
they stand upright,
heaping up high & true
with a girthed girdle of potential
in the majesty of making —
May it be heaved aloft,
both heaven and earth. (82–89)

Who dwells there will be fortuned,
rich in hope these holders of hearth.
That is a true multitude,
innumerable in blessings,
cascades of the angelic.
Those always see fully
their own first, gazing with many eyes,
holding enough of what’s needed.
Nothing goes without light,
those who view the king of vision
in lofty spaces. Feasting & fascination
an endless uncounting,
what can be kept is their comfort. (90–97)

To sum up here: one ought to consider,
every sprout of humanity,
letting go of the worthless chase
for their true meter —
letting go of the joy of borrowed existence,
and hustle along its singing swing.
Forsake hateful malice,
sink it all into flaming wrong —
and ferry yourself
to the granting of realms. (98–102)