Today I read

Desiderata

by Lance Larsen

When will we evolve past he and she, past skin,
past desire sweeping our bodies
like tulipmania through a lowland country
with too many windmills?
I'm still waiting for the Reformation
of wanting, for some witch doctor of eros to dissolve

the space-time continuum and replace I, I, I,
with diffusion: an unwalked field
of grassy light, sun dogs and gimply clouds
above, the slow grind of plate
tectonics below. To sing and be sung,
like mitochondria channeling Song of Songs.

Can't we learn from sky touching earth
everywhere, but preferring salt
marshes and junked cars to Arcadia?
The chaos of birds landing on a winter wire,
then sweetly bruising
the sky in iterations of winged thirst?

This too is desire. Shouldn't wanting be more
like water, with its devouring
patience, more like particle and wave,
morning saying Shalt 
and Shalt not out of one clean
mouth, forgiving, ionizing, rearranging

snow into glacier, glacier into trickle,
trickle heated into steam
that pushes a locomotive through a stunned
village in Nepal, where all jump on,
ghosts, paralytics, mourning
grandmothers, and no one checks your ticket? 

from…

minus the distracting questionable font choice of the publisher. ha

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