cold aqua blue koans on loan

i was meditating on self when self walked away
without a goodbye or anything much to say

and left me for a loss
gathered around self
like moss

to the point of clandestine affirmation
to the high spiritual point of
medieval rubrication

i painted myself in tones of red
to highlight the holy in me
this all just before
i walked away from me

like mid-crossing of self in spirit
i left the room
like butter sinks into toast
gone ghost

like halfway through
the bottle of red
call it the blood divine

getting up
roll away
sensing some allostasis
some sacrilege
offtime

dead beat tired i became
yet received the strength from place unknown
precisely hard-wired to fight
like christ versus hells damnation

strength that no one could see
only me
looking at the backside
of me

not even in awe
cause it was a choice
like changing tones
to synch a voice

so anyway
to continue on...

reprobation held back
so we could see
some possibly different result
(outside a to z)

narrow reaction
leaves a fraction
of knowing
not always enough traction
for seed sowing
but sometimes

the rowers
keep rowing and rowing
in circular motion dipped
in cold aqua blues

toward equality guaranteed
(sung in sychronist tones)
flavors of wood
koans on loan

from some special department
in secret compartment

one moment so wet
but really

dry as bone