Alright, God.
I call this piece, Nirvana's Mouth.
Nirvana,
Yes,
Douse me in your heavenly saliva,
Engulfing the hairs of my arm,
In the thick consistency of dew,
Shall I talk to the skies?
Or will the tenacious clouds
Shower me
In the wee hours of the morning
About the same time,
When the clouds whisper mute graces to the sky,
And when they do so,
Is their drawling lisp audible?
Can you actually feel the awkward,
Slither of their tongue,
Wiping the roots of their mouths clean,
Oh yes,
They have big mouths,
The crevices and indents on the roots,
Similar to the eroded valleys,
That we cherish, and only
Compare a reasonable ratio to,
When we travel those distances,
And in the waters below,
I recite this chant:
Now, now,
Trickery is just the virginity of maturity,
Must you foul my intentions?
By making the teeth of my bicycle wheel,
Slide on the slick surfaces of the Tunnel?
Must an illusion deafen the senses of reality?
While you turn the clarity down,
And unfurl my homestretch like a red carpet,
Echoing your drips from the thin aluminums of the wall,
And below?
You direct my view to the abyss,
Hades’ hand emerges and breaks the surface,
Drawing in the water like making a tent of a sheet,
Now, now Hades,
Trickery is just the virginity of maturity.
And now as I walk down this dense tunnel,
Thusly, I feel the saliva emboss the sheen on my arm,
I am now traveling in what is called Nirvana’s Mouth,
The steady drawl, a snore, of when Nirvana’s breathing,
A gentle wind that parts the waters like God,
God,
Nirvana?
Is their drawling lisp audible?