Words of a Wandering Dakini

Mother's Eye                                                               Mother’s Eye

On this kind of day

Like a day skating down the edge

of a mercurial sidewalk or

driving a labyrinthine roadway in a metal car

with your tongue

Like a balded goddess in a DeKooning painting, naked,

enthroned for three hours, tattoed all over, radiant onstage,

singing in the light of a projector—

sometimes weltschmerzian, old,

sometimes regal when she can manage it

sometimes letting things glow as they will,

like the moment when Scalagug, Mordred

and Liwi all agreed and raised their voices as one,

and their quickening flow thrust out in its balance

and became her, used her body for good,

for pure gesture, clean, clean saying what they had to say,

what they…

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