Sunday, November 1, 1998


My laptop is tied to the world
by a thin silver cable

and I am tied to you by that sullen electronic string--
but for the image in my mind and the wired words
"we" would not exist--
at times the most frightening thought.

feeling from the bottom of
the soul
the gut
from the bottom root of everything
my chakras and your chakras
forever tied and granted blessings of

(we communicate on seven levels, highest to lowest to lower than lowest,
each level a color to listen to: red orange yellow green blue indigo

kiss my rain with your light
hold this hand with your hand
with my one hand in your both hands
with the one thought
in our both minds

stretch the wire tight
into my wrists
rope burn your image into
my tight mind
and crush my mind with the depth of you
til only the diver heart is left
to swim your blue ocean, your blue ocean
a sky inverted, clouds and waves:

send your fire across me now
connected fire, fire fly over the water
and find me feverish and bedeviled
by your icy heat

i am you
i your name
your people me
you my only cure

deeper still than any words
read from a computer screen
blue screen light screen
in the damp hotel room

break the wire
break the screen
stand up and shout without connection
but only through the true connection
my heart to your heart- direct
my heart to your heart- direct Now
and i will hear you to the bottom of my waters:
You are here
This morning is Ours
-Tim Allen

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