Awaiting miracles —
Like an oasis stumbled upon
Settling heaving, thirsty gasps
In an arid, scorching desert
Or like plucking flowers
Velvet petals flourishing
Through the cracked earth
Of barren plains
Blossoms promising
A fecund end
So I await
The silver arms that
Hug grey clouds’ edge
Hinting a nourishing rain
Where my words will flow
An eager and endless stream
Rushing through
These empty pages
“What is natural theology? The libido inventing unheard-of statements, adding supplicative phrases to the pulsional band, prayers, apologias, reflexive metaphysics.”
—Lyotard
The desert as the transcendence of words to intensity — to emotion, to flesh, to feeling — poetry as blooming, as meaning rooted in the charged water of feeling, grown in the cycles of the body: unity, relief, brief oasis of forgetting one’s alienation (or the temporary reaching beyond it).
Great stuff, as usual 🙂
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Nomad Writer 
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