Reduce 10,000 commandments
to Zero.
Break the circle open.
Let the emptiness inside
spill into the the center of the Milky Way.
On your ballot, write in the name
of someone you really love.
Unjoin the party, the church, the sangha.
Wander out beyond the empire of thinking
into the solitude of all souls.
Does silence have edges?
Hear the song between the words.
Let it be the humming of your molecules.
It's not enough to be the sky,
you must become the loam.
Not enough to alchemize an angel.
You must become a mycorrhizal hypha
plunging like a dolphin through waves of sod.
Don't be more than you are,
be all that you have been
for 10 million years.
Find the farthest star in grit-spark
clenched in a clam shell, chaffed
by darkness into pearl.
Churn the void into a song of buttermilk.
Anther and ovule, you and I,
wedded in one calyx.
Gaze at a maggot close up,
the golden idol of your death.
Flow down the continuum of musk
to the incense of putrefaction.
It's not enough to be loam.
You must become
the sky.
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