Mind the Container

We sit
contained
fragile cells holding
body parts in place—
but not Mind. No.
Mind knows
no bounds,
acknowledges
no cellular restrictions.
Mind,
the place from which
Poetry springs,
finds the scratch in the plastic,
the minute fissure in the wooden box,
the tiny spot under the foil lid on the milk bottle.
Mind seeks light
no matter how dense the container.
Once out
it meets other Minds
in Reality,
the place with no borders
where artists need not contain themselves.
Genie out of the bottle,
Truth relaxes—
lollygags, even—
limit-less
power-less
exhilarated.
It fears not the Contained,
rigid in their plastic and wood and glass,
unable to move from their fixed places of judgment;
fear-full,
Mind-killing—
moulding
rotting
souring
in vessels of their own making.

Written in Salt Lake City, Utah
after a dream in the early hours of 05/20/12

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