WHY NOT HOME?
Power is not production and production is not art. I have to keep pulling the car over to the side of the road so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living. But I still want to go home. I will never give up these roadside excursions into the river of thought, though I do wonder why the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel? Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed? The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere as long as it’s at least five miles away. Power is not production and production is not art. I let it pour through me; it’s not mine to sort.
Learn to read God’s handwriting.
Is my inability to understand what creates mystery?
If I were brighter, swifter, keener,
would life be free of unknown communion?
Would comprehension eliminate revelation?
Would I lose perceptual apprehension
by arming myself with knowledge of forethought?
Could I end mysticism through education?
Should I even if I could?