Too Close to the Edge

Too close to the edge.

I am a stranger to the contact

of spiritual experiences-

Searched for, I am smeared

in shamanistic sandpaper like

tracks of music.

The eye is too close to the edge.

Rabid. Lunging. Howling.

Spotted. Wireless. At the

beginning.

The body is a brain.

The brain listens for 45

miles or more. Bibs to

Bigots. Solace in the discovery

of the first 100 words.

On some nights it all looks so

easy not to be seen by the world.