Axon a Sunday

the synergy escapes me
threaded close with one eye on the game
i kneel and twist and turn, in pain
radiating high praise from the deepest set point within

the game itself grows tedious
pall bearers drift in and out of sleep
those eyes are wounded, and
seated thus, cannot / will not be fixed as

the local star that grows in that belly
those recesses of imagination where
the parts are played
not by understudies,
but by those right minded
hollow heart
bursting big bang universe
betwixt and vetted clean

lets everything in, as long as its aware
of its bounty, and greets with absolutes,
no matter the frays of the edges of parallel pistons
firing in all directions at once:

"I like everything", she said.
"everything, huh?"

"that's right".
easiest thing in the world to say. 

M. Lucia