hyperpresent

Words open into libraries.
My cognition leaps easily.
How do fingertips apprehend
this instant fractal teleport?

holding the cup and sensing its future breaking, a time fractal of holding and love in three parts that is also infinity and also nothing/the initiating perturbation from the quantum plenum

0 (which is also a infinity and nothing, the pearl of possibility breaking open from the quantum plenum)
imagine this is in the middle and everything comes out from here the decentered/center. there is a call for an article about love but that just gives me a mental hiccup

a mental hiccup spiral ing out from there a mental hiccup starting again there is no love in all those words could there be, an academic article about love? there could be no love, could there, in things where i have to cite others to have a thought- what if instead each citation were a mycelial tendril? what if i were touching, grooming, photophilically tenderly mycelially like a mycorrhizal networkly reaching out and praising through who i was whoing? i feel quelled by the need to get a job, by how i might be inspected online and found too weird creative or wanting -- that is the danger with names, with wanting to be transparent but really being broken shards of broken cups that can't carry water anymore

i can sense the future breaking of this ceramic (temporary wholeness) in my hand, in this way i am also touching the big bang and also nuclear fission/fusion i always get confused which one, wait should i look that up on wikipedia or keep typing? if this is the igniting wick of a word explosion, i should continue making smoke, burning up my body in the transmutation to prayers. somehow it all blows to nothing, to cosmic grit, to the the dark, immersive, generous 97% dark energy of all creation, the gentle, sweet, generative depths from which all arises and returns - but wait, i can't s/end this in a tidy way, the great making and the great unmaking are already simultaneously arising, erasing each other, just as the leaves here are curling and coiling in on themselves, sucking back their chloroplasts chlorophyll, that's what autumn really is: not green. what's left over when the life coils back into the mother trunk; this is not really fractal enough but me thinking that makes it more so, where will we end // end/begin // begin? just as the initial perturbation in the complex multiverse flex and fold-sing-being. let me be a bee traveling in space-time, on the currents of galactic wind and pollinate constellations to form a kind of dark energy honey in the hives of all creation, just so, at the zero point, returning to the end to rill out again, a flower flexi-folding, in bursts of unspeakable color before words and after, just so, just so, just so BURST

Scent of Orange

since…sun/set

call to prayer fade out

on shores south of here

old ring in my ear left behind…

seated back on chair in Crete

silent cup before me

night/time

feet still…in sandals

lantern now to light

speech less

color gone grays

ahh…somehow

orange blossom scent carried here

 (though no breeze)

ENVELOPED

 in orange blossom scent carried here

 (though no breeze)

held in air

nostrils sway for more

tongue tastes 

last sun/set’s orange

light gone to fragrance

ahh…somehow

orange blossom scent carried here…

IMUNURI Prompt: The infinite coastline

Fractal edges are infinitely expanding, minutely detailed: watch this video on the infinite coastline.

http://www.abc.net.au/catalyst/stories/3697842.htm

Write a fractal poem. Delve in and find the expanding poem within one fragment of a poem. Sense or form the iterating shape echoing across scales.

tags: poet's moniker, poem, infinite-coastline