It is the flood of chaos 

Washing over like rain that will never stop

 

Was there ever a time when I

Was without fruitful words, inside

Voluptuous and anxious 

Extrapolating, wielding good grace for

Tempestuous tremors 

 

How far away was I ever

Drawn from the Bardo, the well of souls

Not far enough to not be able to reach back

And fill this vessel with some slim

Measure of solace 

But often did I ever reach back?

 

Was reaching back a comfort or complacency?

Was reaching back ever anything more than 

A disguised intention 

Working through the layers

Of never more than isolated understanding 

 

I have been a voluminous vessel 

I have been bred and ready

I have been distilled in anxious combat within 

I have been placed in orifices

From where there can be no turning back 

No remnants and remains 

No lost wasteland of dying dogs 

For me to find some place to bury

 

But it is now that all of these moments 

Have come upon me

They are rapturous in vision 

Disconsolate in texture 

Dead or dying in reticence

Lost or lonely in ever effort 

Clandestine hallows 

Descending in wrath

Penultimate in surrender 

Anxious denigration in conclusion 

A tidal wave of forgiveness with acceptance 

A wrought iron displacement with iconic wonderment 

 

Dying dogs are calling out 

Dying dogs are wrenching in sadness 

In discolored torment 

In isolated longing

In knowing that they are marked for the gravesite 

In knowing that there are tombstones 

To hover and enclose 

To demarcate but never

Annunciate

 

They are howling at my knees

Knowing that all of this will soon be over

Knowing that there will be an upliftment

An arising of souls

From beneath the tethered dirt of the earth 

 

There is continuous whispering

Drawing back the teeth from their gums

Knowing that there will come a time

When all of this has been lost from 

Its timepost of readiness

And there will be a steady relaxation 

Into nothingness beyond this sterile mask

That is asserting realism

That is accepting with pretentious livelihoods 

 

Of a life that meant nothing 

Without the fullness of the vessel within

When I look up now

I can see that the moon is rising 

I am searching for where to bury my dogs

They have passed away

And I am now burdened with carcasses 

 

I must accomplish dead with shovel 

Without ceremony or ritual 

And leave no targeted disposition for their remains 

 

Lifeness is never nothingness

It is not separation 

It is not evaporation 

It is only crawling slowly

Between the breath

To find the slim fissure 

Through which there would be an escape 

Back into the unwashed

Ravine 

Where all that we ever were

Is being collected, sorted through 

Into the next reentry 

To decorate the gateway 

With the ornamentation of medals 

Cast upon through deed and action

 

That is the place where we would collect and recover

Where we would find a place to bury our dogs

 

That is where I am seeking but not seeking 

I will invite it to come

I will allow it to claim

I will undress and walk away 

And discard everything that could ever remain