Rich Murphy
Down but never Lout
When the tree of consciousness becomes us,
wears us as a coat rack does a hat and cane,
we find disillusionment beneath
the parapets of our pretending.
We embed ourselves in the repetition
of shoot and shit, but our roots
tumble rock to understand,
so we aren't juggernauts ground by nature.
And we begin again from a new angle
to reach for the gold and silver apples
that seem to pull us from our dizziness.
Though we long to dance from stone to stone
through the universe, we come to our stands
upon our bumps of knowledge
and stretch a light moment
from the rings of clarity to grow.