Beyond the Edges

I've come to where the house of mind
is abandoned. My job is to stir the bath.
With one arm bare to the shoulder,
I keep the grime
and dregs of our bodies churning--
the language of liquid
floating it all in flux.

Dead skin drifts with curls of hair
and lint from infinite belly buttons.
I just stir,
playing some part in its playful patterning.

This is the only crime I claim no guilt from.

spiral galaxy
hydrogen electron density
pedestrians through a concourse

Some students of history have asked
if I don't get cold kneeling beside the tub,
but temperature is of no concern.

I've learned this isn't about "good" or "bad."
It's about becoming
beyond the edges of a dictionary.



by jerry gordon