Early Autumn On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Somewhere between reading Rainer Maria Rilke and listening to Ray Wylie Hubbard’s “Drunken Poet’s Dream,”
the following just flowed out — as usual, no rewrite, you get what you see.
THE BODY SLOWS ME DOWN
The body slows me down,
but the blood still flows,
the soul hasn’t slowed
fostering a deep and
necessary intimacy with life.
The body slows me down,
but I count my blessing
without a 60-cycle hum,
freed from habitual
trains of thought.
The body slows me down,
but the poets still, please
with a taste of bittersweet chocolate,
burning through the words
manifested in music.
The body slows me down,
but my mind leads the
way to an enigmatic mystery,
seeking a Rilke Maria’s moment
freed by Ray Wylie’s applause.
The body slows me down,
but I keep running
from the ghosts that
keep on coming
around the bend.
The body slows me down,
but it’s a dividing outline
is no longer there
providing a membrane
between inner and outer worlds.
The body slows me down,
but I can still hum
Polk Salad Sally,
framing cosmic image
descending from invisible heights.
The body slows me down,
but I still use my imagination
to inspire conscious thinking,
allowing “the damn fox
do what a damn fox does.”
“The days I keep my gratitude higher than my expectations, I have really good days.”
— Ray Wylie Hubbard
