The Hoverer

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.

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