WORDS ON THE HORIZON

PARADISE

Paradise,
what do we
redeem and reclaim
from the ashes of time?

We can make
Medusa less of a tragic brute,
let the gusts blow away
her disheveled locks
and give her a crown of
maple leaves.
We can reclaim her name
as a commonplace one
and let her stew in anger
and indignation from the
injustice of her unique station
but allow her
to take her time.

Time is History.
History is Time.

Paradise,
what is a man's best friend
when the clothes of gravelly ego
are taken off?
It's his capacity to
give you more than crumbs
to feed on,
the humility
to renounce
the misnomer of 'man'
while crossing
the forest reaching up
to heavens
with its redwood trees.

O, Paradise,
what is the purpose
of looking at that tall,
tall red monolith,
bastion of capital,
still a colossus
and yet without
access to public glares.
How will the world
look from above there
when we make our transits
and our astral projections
to the top of our world?
There will be new horizons
on that plane.
Our faces will be without
scrutiny,
vanity
and misguided energies
will be left at the base.

Of course,
you, Paradise,
will remain fabulous
your innocence
transmitted to dimensions
beyond......

You will be an agender muse,
the last galactic sojourner.

Up here,
up here,
we trounce the archetypes
of being in the valley of clouds.
Up here,
our bodies
float on the softest seas
of enthusiasm
and with a committee
of atypical personalities.
Where Medusa is once again
realigned as a
powerhouse of wit and candour
and man's best friends
all gather together without
halos of moving mountains
and roiling seas,
around their now austere heads.

Paradise,
we are here,
the world seen from every possible angle.
We are in this together.

Let's beam this light
like clairvoyants
below,
till it reaches our hearths.

Let us redeem ourselves.

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