Without warning an east wind

inhabits the sky, swiftly brushing

my temple.

This sweet disturbance inflames

internal waters and

brings them to a predictable

boil.

Hints of a hurricane.

Somewhat wary of the ferocity

of its force, I take shelter.

In this place

without fear,

everything can be known.

Lifetimes traded with a glance.

And in the absence of words,

comes comfort,

that reveals potential.

This is a science no equipment can test.

This is time and eternity

A turbulent sky

and still wings

escape.

Escape Velocity, is the result of careful engineering and planning.

Look how the world becomes, breathless.

Well, at least for a moment.

The ascent truly is daunting.

Flight.

Mike Jordan made us believe we could fly, at least long enough to

buy the latest pair of Nikes.

Is flight merely matter under mind?

To make yourself like an eagle, you’ll have to eat a few less twinkies.

Are the goals incompatible?…or unbearable?….a certain lightness of being, creating

an anti gravitational state of mind, where struggles cease and you can move the

masses?

How much concentrated effort does this take?

I mean, we’re not talking about the “friendly skies.”

We’re talking about circling the globe for a true topographical picture.

“Oh my, is the continent of Africa, really that BIG?”

Tell, the students to tear out the page in their Atlas, fold it carefully, and

send it flying from Sears Tower.

Then imagine yourself sandwiched between the creases, a miniature

aviator with mouse like stealth.

That feeling will last longer than your favorite feature film. Longer than

a lover’s embrace. Longer than my interminable rantings, and …you will

have achieved the speed of light.

You’ll see it crawling over an endless horizon.

Just the reality shift you need to start your day.

Chantha sweet, like fruit freshly picked by work weary

hands. The juice runs quickly down their mouths

as they steal a bite to refresh themselves against the

beating rays of sun.

The fruit, tender and cool, disrupts their day. Sends

them reeling and ranting; inclining their minds towards

poetry and even the least articulate thinks he

has something to say.

She serene like the coastal scene of beaches in Pacific

Grove. Her Cypress tree magnificence causes the Monarchs

to alight; newly freed from their cocooned tranformative

state.

In her they’ve found a place to rest. Newly emerged from their jade

green Chrysalis, they pump fluid into their stained glass wings and

begin to glow like Tiffany lamped brilliance in a time tested parlor.

Chantha, they’re singing her name on the midnight shift. Keeping

themselves awake with cups of tea. Coffee is too strong for the

moment infused with thoughts of her.

She an enigma, not so easily solved. A stone upon which the

water falls, washed clean through the ages. Precious like a gem,

where nature is the jeweler and the end result is priceless.

You can’t afford her. Don’t save your nickels and dimes or

try to impress with your 20 inch chrome wheels.

She’ll think you’re a lightweight and imagine you blown

like laundry on a line, when the slightest trouble

comes.

Chantha, see, how the name enchants, teases, and invites

repetition. Go ahead, repeat the name. That’s why she

chose it, so you’d never forget.

When I first met you, I thought I was attracted to your

amazing veneer. Like a streetcar, freshly polished,

I’d slide myself into your plush seats and

prepare myself for a brilliant ride.

Taking in the sites and sounds of a city freshly minted.

Where even the transients are fictional characters in

a mind gripping novel.

Your high society ways abutting the low life streets.

Turning a tender knob to enter a subterranean palace,

I acquainted myself with its crushed velvet, stamping

cherry red pleasantries into my consciousness.

Each tunneled entrance enchanted, opening into caverns with mysterious

stalactite chandeliers.

You introduced me to the blanched woods, baptized by moonlight,

cascading through corridors that lead to innumerable outcomes.

When I shouted your name to the heavens, insults rained down

from 2^nd class stories.

Few could understand my innate need, capped and shaken,

creating pressures that insured my bellowing blast.

Finally succumbing to a confused state, I depend solely

on the kindness of strangers to find my way home.

© Kirk Parker