Massive blue piece of infinite wisdom,
the waters are at least four shades
of blue, as the wild grass bends
in the wind,

the batteries are now abandoned,
yet the tankers continue to plough
through the late winter lake,
as the clouds drift above and
silence the sun,

the white surfs spill onto the sand
like giant gobs of saliva,
and the tug boat guides the
big ship as the solitary rocks
- meditate.

Brown dull water, bobbing ducks, a speed-boat
in the distance, a sail-boat near the bridge, a woman
reading a book next to a log, a bunch
-of LOUD Asian Americans with
- baggy clothes ripping up
--- the silence to shreds,
-------------------------- WHAT THE HELL IS THAT,
-------- I see wet foot-prints in the sand,
----------- I can't stand it, tossing a stupid football,
-------------- oblivious to any kind of wholesome experience,
----------------- in the market place, to radio-active
--------------------- earth-quakes, to nuclear waste
--------------------------as the tall thin girls in their
------------------------------tight jeans shriek their
----------------------------------spent fuel rods, cool
- ------------------------------------to the touch,
---------------------------------------- these brilliant
----------- American scientists who design
------------------------- and invent unthought of ways to
-------------------------------------- store their radioactive garbage
----------------------------------------------------- safely for the
------------------------------------------------------------ next
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 500,000 years.

A pidgeon struts on the sand,
chewing a twig, red eyes, bronze neck,
grey body, orange feet, the ocean is
sliding and swishing towards an
impenetrable mystery, this territorial
bridge between India and Sri Lanka,
this Chinese wall sealing off the
country from these constructive
foreigners, the sea is snoring,
but in astronomical India they
chose jungles and hill-tops
so remote for their centers
of learning, the more sacred
the slag site, the more faraway
in the solar system, far out into
inter-stellar space, I hear French
being spoken.

The pidgeons have disappeared, the indicating
planet we inhabit is this non-luminous star for
yogic recovery, it is an elaborate temple complex
in a remote part of the galaxy, it is the strong-hold
of saints, it is the center of solitude for UFOS, the
wind blows a secret transmission to the pidgeons,
this earth exists like an intricate carving, breathing
life into human matter, to this primeval crust that
has now been totally destroyed, to the red-brick
cloud system of Jupiter that has been sucked into
its red spot which is charged with enviornmental
spiritual energy, which helps these spiritual aspirants
reach their planetary goals. The jogger on the beach
runs towards the bridge, he has started his journey of
surrender and
thus the oceans have now opened the necessary door.

Strumming the prayer beads, the blazing
evening sun competes with the silent white
streak of a jet, and the ocean waters sparkle
as the settling planet expands in me--and I
quietly listen to the heart streams of a universe
that shares itself with every thinking grain of
healing, sealing and pulling the trapped demons
of the flaming rock grottos, that are found in every
gleaming galaxy, the ocean roars as a young girl
throws an unknown stick to a dog inside the swirling
expanse of a gem as I strum thr prayer beads and the
jet's white streak firmly vanishes.

The grey navy ship moves slowly
through the water like a drunken
slug, someone without any clothes
walks into the surf with a companion,
and there are no birds as the ship
moves into the distance and cliffs
aquaint themselves with each other,
in order to recognize the ripples of
this grey navy ship as it mumbles its
solitary prayers.