Mad Ballad Of Mad Change, Watching The World Above The World

I crank my hankering, tonk me toon, plunk past isthmus of fantasy disaster, turn all my keys, patience and collision with hearty earth, explosions of sun and mindless hole in my wild center, shot. I toss in pure gorgeous matte black of full space, ache in wild muscle-strain abandon and press mouth to dirt, fly fast-free in the world above the world. I once thought of a world beneath the world, made of thistles and bitter roots, cringing under frozen earth. Now I think of the world above the world, high-kicking all the rooms apart, flamenco-colored, spinning, spangles on wrists, bordered with love and faith and gem-studded lights. The world above the world is made of translucent pavement, amethyst, spiny shards of half-tilted trees, covered in ice and suns. The world above the world hovers over my head, a field of impossibly too-streaming flowers, with minarets! It hangs in the sky, looks down at me with a smile that stretches past all worlds, above and below and inside me, across wide swaths of silver river. I cry out(!) from pain of all this beauty, turning in a honey colored glow that comes out from in me. I maybe could be a solar system. I maybe could be a trillion voices, a quintillion arms to hold the world above, a duovigintillion hearts, each one bigger, by planet sizes, than the next, crashing into and through all the life. I’m emptying of fear. I’m not empty of longing, not yet. But the love that rains down on me from the world above the world is cleansing me of fear. Imagine that...me, a spinning celestial ting.