portals and possibility

sometimes I stand
here
at the very edge of things
where the veil rips apart and
the passage of my story
gleams and
melts
into all other stories,
pulsing into the bigger picture and ever widening into the
wild wide amorphous great sunrise of being

sometimes I stand
here
at the precipice
of all the pathways of possibility that lead from the portal of myself
in moments where everything
appears
just and exactly
so

pilgrimage

I am but one head of a snake with two hundred legs in syncopated tramp.
This dragon’s spine is a ghost that melts away
the gruelling hills,
the stone fences,
the bark of dogs,
the horse’s watching eye,
the french farmhouses,
the rock paved forest,
the shock of blue petals in wild open surrender to the sky.

I break -
pick berries from brambles,
piss, and watch them pass.

Where is there, but here, and, why go?
This path is not your own.
The conditions of my happiness, endless.

We rise and fall,
form and collapse our dragon spine.
We come to light, melt in the dark,
shimmer in our nakedness.

Behind us, the road,
gone,
gone,
completely gone.