Heart drives me,
thoughts and all,
over the surface of a skinny terrain,
some moments blasting
like steelworks steel
falling
off overhead cranes;
others barely reaching the outer perimeters
of bleak borderline hunches

I rest in gamelan gear shifts
and old age finalities,
interpret facial expressions
with sensitive expertise
and swing through Allen Ginsberg's Planet News;
his energy energizing these tumbleweed words
out of the grave,
bopping 'cross a winding road
in the West Texas wind
that blows in my skull,
howling
with the ferocity of a thousand burning warhead spirits
rising out of a confused leader's might and fear,
while tucked away lakes
in the coniferous belts of Alaska, Canada, Lapland and Siberia
sit silent in Zazen,
their surfaces mirroring the undisturbed Rigpa;
the smell of boiling yellow peas rising
out of giant indigenous pots,
each cruise missile blast as flash
of Satori,
Tellus shrugging its mountains, avalanches roaring,
coffee breaks holy down the trenches
and deep inside the rocket silos
across the mono cultures of Nebraska;
time rushing back into its singularity,
evolution imploding in the existential backwash,
all phonemes sucked back
into a final choking gasp,
not unlike the final stanzas
of Michel Chion's Requiem;

the thimble with humanity's gene pool lost
somewhere
in the artillery shelling of Kiev
while Everything rushes toward Nothing

It's zero o'clock sharp,
and all is well