These random grains they blow,

To the lee side of a dune,

Into the air as fine dust,

Wind-ripped from the source,

Blowing to where god knows.

Loosely moving away,

Chaos ruling the day.

There go the random brain cells,

To the lee side of brilliance,

Into written form as stupidity,

Reality-ripped from imagination,

Flitting to where god knows.

Sentience escaping madly,

A soul lost in desert sadly.

Here goes this musing moving,

One poem grain in a dune,

Lost in the broad desert of talent,

Discarded as a miniscule granule,

My sanity lost in callous perusing.

Stupid ideas blowing away,

Subject to strangers' judgment day.


.

I am a soul of Spirit,

Never said a mantra,

Never been a pilgrim,

Never listen to a sermon,

Never seen God in a vision.

I feel It under my sole walking,

I smell It in the air after a rain,

I hear It booming in thunder,

I feel It in a bustling crowd,

Never could ignore Spirit.

I am a patron of Peace,

Never been to a protest,

Never wielded a big banner,

Never wore a peace sign shirt,

Never drove the coastal in a VW bus.

I saw Its value in the horror of war,

I felt Its function in lost comrades,

I felt Its pain in lamenting families,

I saw Its design in charred flesh.

Never mistook hell for Peace.

Don't give a damn,

About your judgment,

Or a rat's ass about assessment,

And how you meme classify what is Me,

Or your assumptions about my color behaviors,

For I am human, and I embody Consciousness,

And see It all through eyes without scales,

Take a stroll with me and you will learn,

That It is not about cliché norms,

It is about Us.


.

Just now.

I heard another one went down today.

One I have taught.

One I have mentored.

I didn't teach him how to die.

So where did he learn that lesson?

So why did he leave?

I heard it was another bomb.

Such a cowardly weapon.

Such a dirty ordeal.

I'm so busy waging.

Too busy to go to the funeral.

Too busy to remember that life.

I see the clouds moving.

Gently rolling across the sky.

Gently reflecting sunrise hues.

How dare they move?

How dare the world go on?

I sense Nothing cares anymore.



.

They crossed the mighty Missouri,

In the year of their Lord,

Of eighteen hundred and twenty-one,

Departing civilization's certainty,

Jumping Off.

They picked up the trail of Santa Fe,

Heading South and West,

To form a new cultural triad,

Becoming a new breed of Yanqui.

Si, Jumping Off.

Given land grants by Mexico,

Transcended the old to form the new,

Adopting the ways of desert basin,

And embracing the ways of mountain snow,

Jumping Off.

Pioneers whose future was unknown,

Some would perish, some would survive,

Toiling together with Native and Spanish,

Forging a new symbiotic cultural tone.

Ha'u, Jumping Off.

Standing at the precipice of ambiguous,

River and mesa jumps created anew,

Such as Kit Carson not perfect yet true,

They together became the new contiguous,

Jumping Off.

A rich history of the New Mexico territory,

Is relevant with lessons to Us today,

To take the leap and learn a new way,

Embrace and transcend in modern history,

By Jumping Off.

We are You and You are We,

An evolving Kosmic vision see,

In fertile worldview grounds,

Lovingly burying ethnocentricity,

Jumping Off.

Jump Off, Pioneers, Jump to Be!

Spiral forward to new levels,

For New Universe awaits,

For Us to discover Kosmosfest Destiny.

Si, Ha'u, Yes.  Jumping Off.

.