L.R. Harvey Poetry

  INFINITE ARRIVAL Sex says it well, as does the smell of dinner rolls, two sensual attempts to hint at what's beyond the sense. What you’re famished for is dwelling in the thin space between becoming and arrival,  a kind of (yes, also beyond the realm  of reason) never-there and always- are, like ceaselessly falling into an abyss in which you’re already caught, or a slow-climb up an end- less hill while standing still—in other words, a poem, the one you'll never plumb the bottom of, but it's always, some- how, felt like home.

  TWO REVERSALS The first was his decision to descend from where he stood behind the elevated lectern,  fraternize with his throng  of perplexed pupils. Second is how our pupils, in tasting of the light he offers, en- large themselves, continue in indefinite dilation until  the crowded lecture hall is nothing but eyes to catch what it is he emanates, ask for  more.

A DARK NIGHT'S PURSUIT Soft thump against hard air  which is invisible to her, as you, without your con- tacts, can surely understand. A moment to recuperate, a question—grant her that. These things, you may recall, take time to recover from, as all who’ve smashed a toe against a midnight side-table can  testify. Rhythmic modulation as she tries again, again,  echoing the ultrasound  of infant heart-beat. Now silence on the stoop, wings stilled. Shhhh, she's asking us a question: do you want  it enough, despite the pane?

ENTERING THE CITY Go barefoot and bring a bell— a priest or two were killed in there. Odd sensation  to be enveloped beyond  your knowing in the pulsing nexus of yourself. Lean in: you’re not alone. Welcome to the holy city, pilgrim,  where eternity is roughly   the size of a tennis ball, and the king introduces you to yourself,                        who you know.

UNANNOUNCED             " Brahman appeared before them, but they did not recognize him." - Upanishads You do not expect, deserve, a visitor, yet still the morning's sur- face ripples with a gentle knock at your back door. Peek beneath the blinds, eyes wide. You likely say something like,  honey, we’ve got a problem, because your single room  apartment can’t accommodate such  a guest. In exactly such a circumstance as this, you're forced  to either—if politely—turn the guest  away, or, depending on your valuation  of the visitor, begin to knock apart what you once thought was home,  the arduous process of making-room. Further, as whatever food your little pantry holds is not enough to feed the full, you may be then required to lie down on the kitchen table, offer up yourself as the meal.

AUTOPSY  Cinch the corpus on the operating  table. Select a scalpel and begin  the slow task of peeling back the fat. Continue in the work  until you hit something indivisible— likely somewhere in the middle,   the size of a peach-pit, probably. It may faintly resemble the little thumb-Self  the Hindu mystics talk about.  If you can possibly extract it,  please do, because it’s what  I’ve been trying to say. If you can’t,  then bear with me as I keep fleshing out                         these damn analogies.      

  IDEAS The big ones thunder like eighteen- wheeler’s grumbling down a mountain: leave them plenty of room to stop.  You’ll find there’s some  let in the light once you pry a few boards loose.  If you encounter one  nagging like a brother in  the back seat, ignore him,  or, inversely, pay attention  to what he has to say.  Remember longing often paves  the path to truth, so if you feel  it tugging like a bluetick on a walk,  you wouldn’t be crazy if you follow it,                             see what it sniffs.