By Ken Goodman aka yours truly the happy recluse
The Hoverer Walking through the city so unmindful of my legs, The Hoverer stays motionless no matter where I go : borderless GodSky also deLighting [this] brainbow; how long has it hovered unstuck to egoity, immune to post & pre, everybody’s personal egoless deity— why try to look & see? ‘Tween the temples it’s aware unseen/beholdingly : never caught in neural net like some blood juicy fly… exodusted from the grip of pharaoh-ego I. So which is The Hoverer, now or eternity? The Hoverer embraces both uninterruptedly: mated like a mirror shows shit & reflects stainlessly, never clinging to a thought of ‘understand thought-free.’ Oh my god it’s right here : I AM actuality… no known name can be! Tell me then, who hovers? Dawn-fresh AH horizon-free. I’d reply but secret mantra in-hears silently.
It’s no secret that my name is Ken Goodman, but (when ecstatic meditation mates with poetry creation) I write under the pen name of ‘yours truly, the happy recluse.’ And I do it in Cleveland.