after Hermann Hesse
how far down can i dive
under the treacherous cotton waves
that my bedspread has become?
what strange, unnerving creatures
will nibble at my misshapen toes,
what whirlpool will drag me
by the hand
away from the safety
of my feathery boat?
will a violent star scorch my back,
let down
that i’ve let myself drown
in linen barrels?
is this mental monsoon
what the Illustrious One saw,
staring at the river that had brought him to his lover–
praying that the surf would swallow
his flesh and spit out his Self?
will i be ready to tread water
when the boat keels over–
let myself dissolve like rain
in the belly of the river–
dive through serpentine waves
to seek rebirth?
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