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Transmission ~ for Lawrence Ferlinghetti

From some gone world

these wise jewels

soul sparks

catch and light

at the door of knowing

nectar, pearls dropped like dew–

when one wakes

to their brilliant forms

love breathes through

the mysterious nimbus

of the poem–

this gift of wild pure stars

falls to open hands,



facets with mirrors

where we look into ourselves

as the poet disappears

revealing the heart

absolutely touched.


This wired culture’s

chaos of devices–

the life of the poem

misplaced in the shelves

of the entertainments

stuffed into cracks

between station breaks

bloodshot eyes

water on the screen

cut short by texting

still in the web’s thick weave

sobered in somber cafes

where click of keyboards

drowns out gossip

a low of hum in bookstores

behind the self-help books–

found missing

but holding true

beyond spotlights

at the heart of things.


In the long wait

to be known

the raw individual

bears a heart

starved for contact,

hungry for some perfect shock

to crack mind’s wall–

shadow of a box

tight around

the fat wants

that eat us alive–

to find someplace where the naked

live to lie down

in a field of true sounds

gathered like a tribe

of original beings

mouths open for rain

to drink elixir’s song

through a deep channel

from far gone.