U.P.G.

Loaded with metaphor, a seed signed and ready,
Or clever code to upload,
Somewhere in an abstract pocket, or third eye squint
Or heart-glow or something
It’s time to lay back and dark the eyes, and don’t think
About the process (but you do)

The veil isn’t some gauzy temple thing
Or symbol rich tapestry
It’s a rug, much swept-under, and all the sweepings wait
And ambush with
What If? and
Why? and
Arguments (in hindsight easily) to win, and
Memories, and
Tasks undone, and
Snatches of old songs, and
New ideas – so sneaky- much more interesting than This
But press on without trying
Don’t listen, don’t engage, as they take your hand
And lead you through the streets till undone
To Memory Lane, or
Could-Be-Would-Be Land
Pass on, pass on, pay no attention to the man
The men, the women, the many,
Behind the curtain
Which is a rug much swept-under
Until the noise subsides

And images arise for you, to view,

Distracting no longer, but odd
Alice odd, not no but yes Odd
With dialogue and shows
And riddles and scenes
Sir Eel rules here, and all his friends
Don’t notice, let it wash past

Until later, time-gapped later, seeming sooner
You realise a void had bloomed
A lily of lacuna

And it’s time for open-eyes, and questioning and doubt
Did code upload, did signed and certain seed take root
And so on to the rest of the feet-on-floor day
And waiting

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