L.R. Harvey Poetry

POSSIBLE DIVINE RESPONSE Considering you say that it's the sun   which sets, then merrily conclude it once again has deigned to change its mind,  I’m not surprised. Considering  that yesterday you panicked in  the supermarket parking spot when  the lady next to you reversed, assumed that you were rolling, I'm anything but taken aback.  Or how about the countless times you're momentarily convinced t he moon is falling when clouds go by ?   My point is not to shame your many   misperceptions, but just to tell you  that, first and foremost, I forgive you. Secondly, be reassured                                              I’ve never moved.

HOLY MOUNTAIN And having tendered us a brief  excursion on the borders of  the land, You surely understand what in itself now borders an obsession to ascend a little further yet, a little further still.  What few find fit to hazard such a perilous ascent—much less descend once having ventured up—bring little in the form of  evidence for those inclined to  know before they dare to go   themselves. What few find fit to  hazard such a perilous ascent can only testify, if be it in a certain enigmatic mirth,  that yes you can, despite the nature of the climb, despite the fact                               you climb alone.

SLOW ASCENT And grown enamored with the ripples of                 the firmament,                                              the fractured images of mountaintops where morning's breaking                on the peaks,                                              you'll likely pass a pilgrim face-down in a puddle—cold, dissatisfied,                and clearly not                                              at the heavens advertised.  Take note and...

ROAD ADVICE The principle is keep on walking  even when you don’t believe you’re getting  there, or even when you're not quite sure that there exists. Take note of how the ancients pilgrimaged in packs, were wise enough to understand a blazer rarely made it there alive. Consider that the hardest part is leaving, or that  the hardest part is somewhere in  the dusty middle, or how it’s all, in  fact, the hardest part until we reach the place. Wrap up your weary feet and bring a stick, but maybe most  importantly, don’t ever think that  any road eventually will get you there, so bring a map  that’s guided others. Oh, and always keep in mind that any shadows of a doubt you venture through, per nature of reality, must be cast from some- where with a light— so no, you're not insane.

ECCLESIASTICAL AUTOIMMUNE DISORDER We know, per modern medicine,  the way a body can attack itself in  what it deems a valorous attempt to mitigate what it perceives as an offending member. We know, per modern medicine, that such behavior is disastrous left unchecked, results in desecration of the body at its own hands. We know that such  occurrences require help from both  a doctor and a friend: The one to see us through our temporary suffering, the other to provide a lasting cure.

  FRIDAY AFTERNOON Something's scared the leaves, and now  they’re sprinting helter-skelter down  the street. My dog is slightly agitated, either at the leaves or maybe that  which scared the leaves, but who can rightly say? The point to take away is that the world’s running like a racing pulse, running like someone’s breathing down our necks, and hopefully that's the case and that soon                                         He'll catch us.

BEHIND THE CURTAIN Our Bodiless Conspiracy, we've been  your advocates a while now, have even gone, at certain times, against our better  judgement in defending such a far- fetched plausibility. Observe the facts , they sneer, and really they’re correct in that the facts don’t add up to You, but then the facts alone don’t actually arrive at anything convincingly conclusive. As such, we're here—if not without a shadow of a doubt— here: C onvinced there's some thing more, further convinced that it's running everything, beyond that, quite incapable of sufficiently proving it per fact or data set. You sent a body for that.

RESTLESS Like an itch which nestles snugly in the shelter of a shoulder-blade, there comes a certain point when innovative angles simply won’t cut  it anymore. As such, what is left but to confess our need, petition for a helping hand? This hand must  have, of course, full-access to the region wherein the itch occurs, and further, a certain degree of will to so assist the sufferer, suggesting that a measure of relationship must undeniably exist between the two. And if, per say, the itch is fostered deep inside the in- articulate interior, what then? I'll be  so bold as to assert we'll find the self-same principles apply, and ever more the deeper we descend.

  THEY STORMED THE CAPITAL she said, but more unnerving than  a growing pile of rubble thrown  loose by protestors was how  the they rolled off her tongue like oil  on a hot skillet. They would . Of course, likely more troublesome than both of these was how I shook my head as if I understood,  no inkling as to who the they had  indicated, but certain, by power  of deduction, it wasn’t us, it never could be us.

CLIPPINGS I often wish my soul were made of keratin, cause then I could nibble off the extra parts and spit the little slivers all around  the living room till the vacuum,  given time, would suck them into nothingness. Or maybe not— maybe they'd sprout legs & chests and call me God, proceed to make a righteous mess about the place when I left the room. Still, I doubt I'd have the heart to throw them out, considering they'd be, if only tangentially, still a part of me— that would be their only hope.

  LETTER TO A MODERN ODYSSEUS The important thing is not to fool  yourself that this is good enough.  Not that it isn’t good —it’s full,  at least, of something causing us  to thirst for something full—but  everybody knows salt water won't satisfy the sailor, and roads, to put it bluntly, don't qualify as being  there. And there? I’ll tell you what I know, of course, which is not  to fall for neon promises that say welcome home , and also not to buy a camper because you just aren’t meant to live on wheels. Other than that my best advice is  keep on moving , cause if it feels you're being reeled like a fish on a cosmic hook, just ask a fish how it feels to yank against the line. Oh, and be careful if you find yourself on a long, smooth stretch that causes you to nod—in that case, sing a song or slap yourself, just don't do as you're inclined. Other than that you're good to go, and really that's the key—don't stop till you get there, and son,...