Morphic Resonance
I split mental blocks
Like a razor sharp glacier
That cuts through
Granite slabs
Forming unshaped valleys
Where reservoirs of thought
Soon flood
And rise above tree level
Then I part the water
With my bare hands
Like Zeus.
Deforestation has occurred
Beneath the cloak
And so
I leave my mandalic tag
On the window of water
And head for the hillside
Where I reside as a specter
Amongst the weeping white fir
Where I’ll watch
As the new wave of social climbers
Meander the white dome
And prepare for a game
Of frisbee golf.
Omprekash
As I crimp the orange flake
I realize that I am defying gravity
I can’t hear anything
Except for the skin on my fingers
Being devoured by the brutal
Quartzite conglomerate
That many years before
Detached from the towering cliff above
And crushed the marmot’s toenails
Sending brittle pieces flying about
And creating talus
On which I will soon break my back
If I miss this next throw.
But there is nothing to connect with
At the end of this enormous chuck,
A relatively blank and sloping lip
Is what’s in store.
My spotter reassures me that I am a Gumby,
For this is the East Coast:
It is not Chris Sharma who will attempt
To break my fall,
There is not one Santa Cruzian in sight,
These are the Shawangunks
Not the Buttermilks
I decide to follow a guru’s advice
An “give myself to the move”
I tenaciously grip the rock
And pray that my sticky rubber sticks.
The lactic acid flows through my veins
And an upward draft of chalk
Caresses the back of my neck
I am in mid-air now
But there is no hope
I have been cruxified
