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“Things That Grow”

Walk with me into the Garden wearing living clothes,
away from the dead ideas of smarmy brainiacs,
the dead towers built of Earth’s last bones,
the dead machines manufacturing bullets and poison,
the dead streets paved with dead dreamguides,
and the dead voices of the death gods on television.

Walk with me into the Garden wearing living clothes,
away from moaning clerics and the books of dead men,
the mud farms and stump orchards and gargoyle gardens,
the Cyber Valley where they digitize dead minds,
the think tanks where they make our eyes turn gray,
and come play in the Garden full of things that grow.

Walk with me into the Garden wearing living clothes,
and I’ll show you how deeply cherished you are,
how the wind rejoices at the touch of your flesh,
how your mind floats in a sea of undiscovered leviathans,
how plants have voices and trees are buddhas,
your infinite significance and eternal irrelevance.

Walk with me into the Garden wearing living clothes,
and get pregnant with me full of things that grow,
with baby rainforests and schools of whales,
with dragon poets forbidden from history,
with the pulsing of the Earth and the pulsing of our hearts
as we merge our cells with the Unborn.

Come with me into the Garden wearing living clothes,
and let us kneel at the feet of the things that grow.

__________

Written by

I write about the end of illusions.

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