Map of My Heaven

I don’t need a God
At the center of me
Or slightly off center
I am not a Buddha or any other divine man
Inside where I dance
Shape of my orbit
Map of my heaven
These men do not know my secrets
Though it is possible for them to see my unfolding
They choose its transparence
And have taught me in the classroom of their company to do the same
Until now
Here where my silence breaks like bones
Endless spring

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It’s obvious that when the apocalypse comes, I will be one of the weak people. I will have no spin kicks with which to defend myself. I will have only the magic of my words and my understanding to protect me. I will be meat for the beast. (Unless I can engage him in conversation.) And I am fine with that. If my death at monstrous hands becomes imminent, I hope I can meet it in a lounge chair, sipping on a gin martini.

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