it all comes back now

[revolutionR]

it all comes back now
The ocean held out its hand to me
all the grains of sand of the beach whispered to me
I walked on the sounds of the universe, waves crashed
with a steady rhythm born of some restless forever
everything was like a bright slow explosion of light
the cliff rose up behind me like a book shelf
filled with volumes of akashic records I read before I was born
I hear the roar of the surge of the elements all around me
the stars are falling in place in one great nothing crying diamonds
I feel the hand tighten and the sea washes through me with memory
all my days flash before me, I''m a child again feeling the sun
singing through colors that dance in all the world of my senses
I'm sitting in some dark room with some rays filtering down
from some window that exists off in the distance
I'm reading a book of poetry by some poet that is dead

the words go by like street walkers in the lamppost glow
I'm just sorta nodding between periods and the next sentence
it feels like drops of water are falling on my head from a great hight
I can hear my bones talking to the far off walls that I can't see
I seem to be sitting in total darkness except for some illumination
that sheds from that square of glass that must be allowing it in

I remember and forget what I am reading at the same time
the words have stopped on the page for a moment, crystal like
frozen there for all eternity, what did I just read, or was it reading me
it all comes back now, flooding me with cities, birds, trees like puffs
of dream, opening on skies of clouds whose shapes speak to our
farthest wild

ragged people looking for enlightenment in the garbage heap of idols
blinking cocktail signs in the depths of night screaming at drunk moons
cartoons playing on some ancient television sitting in the middle
of nowhere, horizons that never can be reached no matter how far
you drive, zooming distances along abandoned buildings, rivers of neon
blurring our perspective points with ghosts of our becoming, blind faith
driving our industry, dead ends lined up like traffic signals whose
purpose and meaning long since eluded our trajectory, tragic endless
wastelands of progress, crumbling empty churches whose God inside
is still nailed to the wall of nothing, the only parishioners are crows
and rats nibbling on the crumbs of truth left by the body and blood
and out there in the deserts of our endless distraction, our entertainment

the ocean now looks like a period dot on the end of an endless sentence.
I close my childhood eyes, and look deep inside my skull of exploding zeros.