Flower Garland Froth

for Zenshin Philip Whalen


                                  more FOAM
          making foam with no origin
         but mutual reflection

Taste xxhunger xxperception xxthought

NO JOKE not even traps

gorgeous manacles

((xxphysical form-bubbles xx((sensation-bubbles xx((perception-bubbles xx((conditioning-bubbles xx((consciousness-bubbles

MALLARME'S HUGE PASSIONS AND FRANCESCO CLEMENTE'S tiny, skinny, dark figures in the joy of their excrement and bright excitement, and Blake's fairies and caterpillars swimming in nada, right where we breathe
The Circus of Celebration runs away with us (not us with the circus!) pulling us out of the big top like kernels out of a wrinkled shell

more foam

FOAM POPPING BY THE SIDE OF THE RIVER rainbow bubbles burst, while reflecting all things from a black smooth rock made of bubbles and a white hand

reaches TO FILL A VASE from the cool stream Bronze vase clinks on a stone foam More foam

FOAM WHERE A SKUNK DRINKS from the trickle elegant black and white fur of foam Sound of the water foam bubbles FUR OF A MOVING TRUCK in the wet forest Paint chips on mulch A huge presence and purpose bursting into being with everything Solid nothing

... SOLID FOAM-BUBBLES BURSTING INTO OLD SHOES NEW SHOES black with high tops bubbles of iridiscent soil on the soles Smell of redwood and wet mulch in countless realms of reflections IN JUST one body or none trickling over the mirror

HERE IS THE TRUE CONTENT OF EXPERIENCE THE UNTRUE CONTENT OF EXPERIENCE silver raindrops falling on bubbles Words spill from sleep Hungry ghosts behind trees push over dreams NOT TRUE Tiny black seeds rattle in an envelope BIG SCARLET FLOWERS Bubbles FOAM

A SWORD WITH EDGES OF FLAME slashes the walls BLACK ANTS CIRCLE A BUBBLE OF HONEY Zebras, wildebeeste, at the waterhole Smell of red dust in the air is foam Uncoiling fiddle-neck ferns, astroturf, voices of wisdom BLADE THROUGH A RAINBOW MEMBRANE

EVERYTHING SMILING with haloes and imaginary radiance ALL FOAM real as delusion and the sunyatta physics of pond plants and the hot air ducts blowing into outburstings of snow banks These caves are inhabited by nothings constructed of bubbles I drive them around and eat them

FALCON SHAPES WOVEN IN GRAY SILK Tension of plum buds in night fog Stars a trillion years from the mist BUBBLES all in one ONE IN ALL Hidden in moss in the redwoods near a Butterfinger wrapper

THE SOUND OF THE DOWNPOUR ON WALLS is bubbles bursting into stuff of delusion, fine as a new chip on an old tooth LIKE THE TECHNICOLOR MOVIE of smells projected between raindrops on a screen of touches and tastes The message of flannel is foam for the shoulders in the perfume while floorboards shine Perfectly clear

I RISE PROUD TO BE BEING as I am and I lie silent NOT KNOWING I know I know the long-gone delicacy and meat of apricots sun-heated on branches and waves and caverns of fuel smashing the earth in the arising and pouring of patterns I love those who fight this I HAND THEM the primate crown shimmering with hunger and automobiles and velvet and contracts and postage and ponds plants and emeralds and jazz THIS IS NOT MINE THIS WILL NOT BE MINE THIS IS NOT MINE THIS WILL NOT BE MINE This is not mind This will not be mind THIS IS NO BODY THIS WILL NOT BE BODY ME is not mine It appears on the tip of an eyelash A bubble foam


- Michael McClure

for the 25th anniversary of the ordination of Philip Whalen

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