Rocks and Stones . . . And Mountains
Large gaping pores riddle my black ashen, lava crusted, rock face
Sculpted from resolute lines compelled to castigate ebullition,
a crazed exhilaration of elemental fluidity
that runs rampant, provoked by the blinding urge for velocity;
Yet I cannot deny my unvoiced outcry choked from lack of beauty.
Jagged, angular sharp lines of mine define cold stark legalities
incarcerating a manic celerity under a bedrock of restraint.
Mantle plates ride our red tide that throbs in search of escape
and terra firma groans from interlocked persistence that bulges into cordillera disfigurement.
Rage and Passion fashioned in fraudulent Chaos,
You cannot deceive me with your mystical weave.
There is pattern and from beneath your deformities,
And your smirk flirts form keenly pointed, serene noesis.
Thrusting upward my hard, ridged, peaked reality
of our internal pressure from cooling core heated,
I now know well our protruding volcanic eruptions.
A boiling liquid purity once contented, I am engorged,
and we poke the air with unrelieved need.
Take heed for I do feel your lapping satin waves
licking the golden hue of our southern shore.
Your libidinous tongue, Lust-Monger seeks to corrode
but cannot erode my fortuitous code.
We shall cool our heated frenzy:
magma is but unborn rock,
fire but the ghost of future rain,
chaos but a fetish mirage
invoked by sweltering vehemence
sweating to be quenched amid trembling convulsions.
We are rocks and stones . . . and mountains,
Shall we weep our struggles, you and I?
Iron Mountainous Ego of tactile paranoia and stubborn narrowness,
So you say.
Are we truly a myriad of celestial blobs?
You, the shining light around us, the boiling heat within?
Are we not the air and clouds and water?
We are our own tears.
Kama-Rupa**, I explode with exuberance our viscous serum of life.
Feel the surge of power gushing, gushing, gone.
Sigh
Calm, contented, relief.
Air born dust caressing unseen elements
transfigured now to flawless spheres of liquid crystals
are supple, transparent globes of wetness,
pure clarity unblemished by color,
progenitors of ice,
chameleons of form,
persistent seekers of the lowest common ground.
One minute tear
Infinitely replicated within our robust cloud
falls.
Bring on our multitudinous drops.
Wash over me.
Drench arid pinnacles barren but for crevices and cracks.
I cherish the rain.
Soft, round water
Flattens and expands upon my rocky cheeks,
Slides over flat granite and slate,
Infiltrates all unperceived voids.
Slips into unseen spaces,
Leeches below the microscopic,
and subverts my most jaded edge.
Coerced into fluid suspension
Tiny particles of rock
dissolve in progressive, accelerated motion
to join countless others in the torrential race
as trickles spill into creeks cascading down
tumbling over rough terrain, snaking into streams,
Rushing into rivers that know only to flow til there is nowhere else to go.
I am worn,
torn from myself bit by bit
dissipated again in saturated solution
that runs from the deluge of liquid rejuvenation
which has stripped my most decisive summits
to lay bare parabolic ridges
before crashing into our grand tidal pools
of Rain’s reservoir.
Cradled beneath the stench
liberated from receding oceans
lies estuaries in rhythmic oscillations.
We are mud and clay
Infused,
A critical mass
Triggered.
**Kama-Rupa: Sanskrit: desire form; the form of the body after death; astral body: theos.