Grateful

I have been given it all
I have been given more than I could have ever imagined myself
How long did it take? For the original sound to get into this kind of resonance?
For the quelling of the white noise to start to find it’s way out into my heart again
How many times have we given ourselves up to the chew chew chew of destructive holocaust in the judgment centers of our eyes?
What is this transcendence that has eluded breakfast for the last hundred or so crunches of the cereal bowl that has colleted itself together on my spoon?
Not to do much but stare me in the face
Wander off the edge of things and ignore me
As if I expected an electric light parade to come through the windows and pour across my childhood lap as I lay comfortable in my parent’s gossamer web of illusion
This is the lost edges that I was looking for, a way out of hell, a way out of my shitty attitudes, a way to the sky like a curving bastion of ephemeral arrows on a giant pinball machine that overlays the goggles of reality, like a zoomway that aims at each star which is no longer a star but a tunnel, down which to swim the cosmic ether with your big flapping cetacean flippers,
A door with a big key that unlocks it
A bottle that says drink me
A normal everyday world with a rabbit who just happens at a sundry moment to pull out a watch and hurtle you forever into the realms of something so unlike a sunny boring afternoon in the lives of British children.
Children who are like my confidantes in life waiting with baited breath for the other dimension to come flooding into this one and devour all of our souls in a gargantuan inferno of love and seething consumption, like a herd of wild boars let into your southern bell grandmother’s sandwich cotillion
This is the reality of the total validity of all the things. I must not resist. I am to accept my self and all that is waiting to be rung up on the register, dinged in from the fry cook to the waitress to my table in the shinning restaurant at the end of the universe.
Where I have been waiting for all of eternity,
To have the best sandwich I can imagine
Before the window of sandwiches and imagining is forever gone in the static field of what is no longer manifest.
Where I can chew the pickle, the proverbial mustard covered pickle that whole galaxies of time are held together by, wherein life and death and civilization will occur between the crunchings of my mastications
Never will there be a loss for depth or meaning or transcendence of those things, never will we get hung up on mucus covered eviscerated carcasses of war filled countrysides, or nirvanic ecstatic blissful penetrations of the living organic quiver filled organisms that we are. No instead we will find an ever and more accepting attitude about the what is being now and the what is being in our mental experiences of ourselves.
I am not fucking reality. I am not suffering really.
I am not crying about something in particular, I am not keeping one thing scared and calling another something else.

Clcik Here to listen to Devin doing a reading of this poem.