The Next’s Spandex Grips Thought’s Quads Poem by David Floren

Absolutely No way

Is it about incessant expansion
Into metaphysical mind-space,
Of size or power, or commanding intellectual view.
A never-happy-with-its-current-size you.

Rather,

It’s all about taming feral urges for absolute liberation.
It’s about liking a you who’s still resolute with limitation,
Who has strengths and weaknesses,
Who has quirks and sneakinesses.

Who knows expansions and contractions

Happen.
Who feels them

Happen.
Who happens to know and feel
The really real,

Unbiased space

Where objective and subjective,
Where observed and perceived,
Where all interpretations and all sensations,
Of being stretched thin, of being relieved,
Like U.S. troops in Iraq would like to believe,

And all these things and non-things commingle.

Who knows the trick to this perspective
Is its impossibility and selective blindness?
Who knows to stick to his respective
Biases and definitions of kindness?

Who knows the trick is a prospective
Stare at the “not there” – the future?

The next’s Spandex
Grips thought’s quads.

So the questions pour in like Marine squads
Going door to door In Falluja,
Pouring right on through ya.

Ever inward without command,
Without release you must expand.

A dirge for you!
Strike up the band!

And I demand to be told
What lever I should hold
And twist or button depress
To relieve such stress!

The obvious answer:


[12-16-05 Berkeley, CA]