Let Us Launch Like My Pen Now

First i must say i am tired. i see we all are.

my sermon is silent

from the balcony below the mount.

A vast mesh of clouds does not block the light, but pulls my eyes abroad as the sun palms my cheeks and arriving wrinkles.

It is all okay.

Time is dying. Meaning changing.

How to ease its passing?

Hold its hand as it moves closer to the end.

Nothing does ever really reach a conclusion.

“Could i be more clear in my reading?”

“Sure, sure.” Will never reach a conclusion.

It’s all just intake still.

There is no knowing how and when output will arrive anymore, but you refuse to hold it in

because space for replacement is often necessary.

Become a permeable surface for the engagement of others.

i’ve launched my favorite pen off a hotel balcony.

The air it encounters is no longer space in the inflection of intrusion,

in the bigger picture.

Clouds ease out and jive around like sedans in gridlock .

How much is too much to ask?

Dancing is not too much.

Nor portraiture.

Or poems.

In our engagement of others

we won’t saddle living things with

listless monetizing and surveillance

because we can

ask for more:

exploration, agitation, protest, unity, understanding

against ever present intimidation.

Let us make more movement

really raucous

and more yet

something subtle!

Let us launch like my pen now

Not fearing we might land below.

Not needing to land above.

Tearing towards the triumph

of examining more without end.