Almost Rhimbaud
by Mary Shanley
I live in the pulse of unconscious patterns.
My civilized mind remains incapable
of interpreting the illuminated life
I experience outside the limits
of ordinary consciousness.
Today, I am an ancient soul.
Periodically contemplating
the divine in every molecule.
An urban naturalist,
living in a cement cave
painting pre-verbal
symbols on the walls
and chanting Sanskrit
seed syllables, vibration
language to recalibrate
the essence of my soul.
Today, I have escaped death
in dens of darkness
I have wandered
across the contemplative
Sahara sands,
a lonely saint
crossing the desert
nearly dead,
when I awaken to the
grace of life
and dance in the whirlwind
with the angels.
We are without faces
yet visible, nonetheless.
Published in Literary Heist, 2020
Published in Poems for Faces 2014
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