Unplugged

We are prisoners of consciousness.
I need to be awake on my own.
Let us burrow into our minds.
We have roots.
And we can plant seeds.
Let us create ourselves.

Shut off our toys for the day.
No Facebooking.
No tweets.
No Tumblr.
No texting.
No game apps.

No Droid.
No Instagram.
We have enough picayune things.
I will carry a Polaroid.
I want to move you with painted words.
Though they stand still.

Delete that keyboard entry in your text space.
I want you here to talk with me.
Your hand gestures and interpretations inspire me.
I need your touching eyes,
Pressing on me like wet violets.
I need to live, so I don't forget how.

I want to be lost in the woods,
Basking in the light shimmering off leaves,
Drinking from a sacred tree trunk of Methuselah,
To ingest the sap that leaves the air behind me clear.
And gasp in the breath of beholden beauty,
Latched in a skeleton-keyhole chest.

Funny, I publish posts in a blogosphere.
I love the idea,
Of ideas lying nimble on this nimbus.
I write my heart on paper as thoughts strike me in the head.
I express them here because I struggle to bottle the words,
Though I carry hundreds of hidden pages by the spine.

I write below trees until my wrist is writhing.
Unplugged from wires I find my equilibrium.
I can't maneuver from being this man.
I need to disconnect to begin being connected.
I remember that I am dust and water,
And I bathe exquisitely in the dirty recess of my mind.