Be still,
or churn,
like butterfly milk,
like curdled cream.
I dreamed that we cannot dream past September.
Maybe God will explode then,
and all the stars
and all the planets
and all the moons
and all the science
and all the religion
will mix together in a giant tornado
and the desert will no longer be
and then,
I will no longer be.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 
and then it can all start again!
This is a desolate poem, but intriguing. I wonder if it would begin again as willowdot suggests. Thanks for being on the blog tour.
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I love this. Nice wording!
I am still reading this poem, to decipher more and more from it…like most poetic imagery, it is ever-changing. As a desert-dweller, I thank you.
September it is! Love your writing.
We are the result of an astral explosion so this piece has positive vibes, destroying the contentious and renewing the beauty. Stars and silver linings everywhere, no more deserts – what’s not to like? Remember the silver linings.
Love this poem, especially this line:
‘I dreamed that we cannot dream past September.’
You have such wonderful subtle paradox within the lines.
I really like the line about it all mixing together in a tornado. Such wonderful imagery throughout!
great poem, man you have a lot of followers!
i love this one
Thanks Ray 🙂
Great way to pull us into the poem, either to be still or to churn, as if they are the only choices…and sometimes they are, or so it feels like.