I dream the Iam perfectly
The pentameter dreams me
eloquently, we are one, does
It hurt? Of course it is love
Does it contend, no it takes
More, in order to place it
Correctly, always the perfectionist.
All directions, one looks around
Says, I am that. Done. Is. I’m am that.
Done. Is. I am All. Nothing. I am nothing.
All.....seamless mind that points and becomes
BE!....it is....with a moment eternity, dances
like wet flower petal on dew laden grass
A passerby crosses and picks it, imbued
With beauty for a dot in time, refinement
Collector of pristine thoughts, divider sublime.
We are all instantaneous, all there. Rebuilding
structures commandeer boats such as dimensions
at the very exact pace we set the metronome to
tick with our selfish will, carnivorous hunger for beauty.
Christopher Baird 2012 ©
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