Anarkissed

Mira, Francis, the Baal Shem Tov were anarkissed for love.
King David danced naked before the Ark, anarkissed for love.

With only a broken jug, a brick for a pillow, Rabia refused
the princes' hand: she was anarkissed for love.

Whitman, cummings, Teilhard de Chardin, all ambulance drivers
and poets who bound up warriors' wounds, anarkissed for love.

Jesus too, who burst the skin of the law with new wine,
shouting “I AM Anarkissed for love!”

Ferment your marrow, distil your blood.
Explode what contains you, drink who you are.

Burst the wine skin of Peter, Luther, Marx and Reagan,
the wine skin of Mohammed, he won't mind.

Burst the wine skin of government, the wine skin of belief.
Don't bottle your sparkling heart, be the hard stuff!

Ignite your nipples and boom like a fire rose!
Don't scrawl stars on the walls of your skull.

Make timid people tipsy with laughter,
then invite them to dance.

You won't see Kali's thousand-formed reflection
until you shatter the mirror of I.

Get beyond drunk and sober, violence and peace.
Live in the garden where lion-headed serpents

sing to the violin zebra, winged elks fly
through the ripeness of the pomegranate,

and bridegrooms marry their brides with a kiss
that seals the crush and mingling of all berries.

Let every mouth be anarkissed for love.
This kingdom needs no king. 

These laws are inscribed in the palm of the hand
that holds a hoe or soup pot.

Ideology dissolves into a tear.
The revolution is breathing, the radical act is Presence.

Burning

A burning brought us here,
the world-curling flame.
Weary wisemen told us
to snuff it out.
Now we need it back.
Distant stars distinguished
by vast detachment,
we have attained
the flavorless
Bodhichitta.
Yet in our black
and perfect slumber
tongues extend
for kisses of light.
Fingers writhe,
imagining a run
through forests of fur.
Don't try not to burn.
Become the fire.