The fourteenth of November

is hard to figure

Having sex, at its best,

is groundbreaking,

giving directions

from the core of star clusters,

operating the fluorescent possibilities

of Cosmic Mind;

the selfless Knowhow of Self

Dying is a Masterpiece

by everyone of us,

in the breathless letting go

in the no matter, no how

I wake up

in the middle of the night

to urinate,

and much is still here, undue,

when my bare feet walk my bladder

across the hall

Afterwards I fall back into myself

as the pipes whisper to a sudden stop

and the house resumes its position,

my makeshift understanding

of arrival & passage left on repeat