|Stepping Up by Joel Robison (JoelRobison.com)|
"I'm beaming myself to love,"
he says, though no one hears,
or cares to wish him well.
Then he sits wherever, listens
to frequency of windy sound waves
curling around his mind, blowing
in all directions, his speed intensifying,
the sound amplifying 'til he's gone
from here, but arrives in that place
feeling elated, weightless, thoughtless.
Playfully he skips along, stepping on rocks
of air going higher, but nowhere.
For many years he's been going there.
He got tired of inviting others
who smirk, laugh, shove him aside,
give him a dollar once in a while
so he'll go away. They hate
seeing people like him,
Once a woman went with him,
said he was enlightened
before she was taken away somewhere.
So, he keeps beaming himself to love.
Can't figure why everyone
doesn't travel there.
(Submitted to Dverse Poets where Grace has us writing to the surreal paintings of Joel Robison.)