you stand, fist raised,
against the mountain’s face.
each strike an echo
that only you embrace.
you call it yoga.
i call it poking the moon.
so drop the hammer,
left or right.
let your hand
......
we’ve been poking ourselves,
or the ghost we call self.
(first, with no fist, no force,
just the hollow hum
of who’s poking who?)
we poke anything we touch,
anything we want,
under the will of the no-thing
or the collective crammed into
......
we’ve been poking ourselves,
or the ghost we call self.
(first, with no fist, no force,
just the hollow hum
of who’s poking who?)
we poke anything we touch,
anything we want,
under the will of the no-thing
or the collective crammed into
......
you stand, fist raised,
against the mountain’s face.
each strike an echo
that only you embrace.
you call it yoga.
i call it poking the moon.
so drop the hammer,
left or right.
let your hand
......