“Almost Rimbaud” by Mary Shanley

I live in the pulse of unconscious patterns.
My civilized mind remains incapable
of interpreting the illuminated life
I experience outside the limits
of ordinary consciousness.

Today, I am an ancient soul.
Periodically contemplating
the divine in every molecule.
An urban naturalist,
living in a cement cave
painting pre-verbal
symbols on the walls
and chanting Sanskrit
seed syllables, vibration
language to recalibrate
the essence of my soul.

Today, I have escaped death
in dens of darkness
I have wandered
across the contemplative
Sahara sands,
a lonely saint
crossing the desert
nearly dead,
when I awaken to the
grace of life
and dance in the whirlwind
with the angels.
We are without faces
yet visible, nonetheless.

 


Mary Shanley is a poet/storyteller living in New York City. She has had four books published: Hobo Code Poems, Vox Pop; Mott Street Stories and Las Vegas Stories, Things They Left Behind, and Poems for Faces by Sidestreet Press. Mary is a frequent contributor to on-line and print journals, including: Underground Voices, Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood, Edge, Garbanzo, Tell Us A Story, Poydras Review, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, StepAway, and Writing For Our Lives.

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