Frisco hills

[revolutionR]

Frisco hills with windows of rainbows
poets walk the streets looking for the impossible
this is another kind of enlightenment
to see a Buddha in a homeless person
the words of the one who came to write
on the fog of emptiness,

nothing to write, nothing to say
and the words come from the night
like strangers wandering the alleys
neon languages floating on air

jazz comes from the bar door
of the imagination, smoke pours out
into the darkness and the lights of the city
poetry pours out of the laughter of the drunks
the world turns upside down in a wine glass
and it all blows away on the salt wind of
tomorrow, all the sorrow of the clouds

all the songs of the word workers
the symphonies of the victorious din
the homeless Buddhas searching the garbage bins
the flushing of the sewers into the void
the voices of the birds on the park benches
the bus stopping at the corner of Broadway
and a poet gets on and goes to the back of the bus
the tall buildings saluting the heavens or
giving the finger, the circus of stars over the roof
of the world

[mnaz]

The patterns started to change there, from all those closed-off desert war centuries. I wasn't there, but like so many others the ripple effects were pretty powerful. Still are, really. It was a definite convergence zone, no doubt.