The poet creeps through passing time
The painter sweeps up every rhyme
The crafter weaves a vein of gold
As musician strikes the molten load
Descending together
Tight on their collective tether
Marking all celestial signs
Looping ‘cross forbidden lines
Troubadours pine on resinous lies
Dancers key on resonant chimes
Together tapping on infinite schisms
Gifting follies from dichotomous derisions
The muse resides there below
Forever chirping ‘bout her great glow
In a bottomless pit with ghouls fervently lurking
But from time to time, when her mood’s just fine
She’ll let you escape
With a tiny sip and solid lift
As her canaries each morning
Sing last notes as you’re climbing
In the abyss frauds will linger
How could they not?
When fawning clowns sense their rot
Clawing, snorting, taking by force
Palpably disconnected from true source
Spreading their filth, collecting their souls
Their lives but tasks beneath flimsy masks
Hardly miners at all merely flees and ticks
Surface parasites painlessly flicked
Away, just as you should
To chime and feel fine at
How tight is your line
When to the light you emerge to
Find your home in the shade
Of all the treasures you’ve made
With all those tiny sips saved
From infinite journeys below and above
Viewing specks of stars through the leaves
Marching ants through the trees
Fields of flowers full of bees
Igniting Infinite
Creative sparks of spring
Those of the miners’ great faith dream
At work all through time and space
The artist as witness of divinity’s trace
Forever re-pollinating our Universal case
Kensho Homestead 