the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in your brain.
this is the devil's circus.
you are not reading this on a page.
the page is reading you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra
it's a hungry eagle
circling the room.

this is not a poem.
poems are dull.
they make you sleep.

these words force you
to a new madness.

you have been blessed,
you have been pushed
into a blinding area of light.

the elephant dreams
with you now.
the curve of space
bends and laughs.

you can die now.
you can die now
as people were meant to die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music
roaring