Two Poems by Jeff Steinle

The Mingling

I don't think there is such a thing as clarity.
Just spasms of pain, breathing, and mock hilarity.
Or anyway glimpses being so brief as to be a rarity.
Comes and goes as an illusion lost and found,
On and off, ones and zeros, attached and bound.
Love without hate for your mate
Whether here or gone it is never too late
To express deep gratitude for existence
Of being even in nothingness
Both at once in times arrow
Makes me feel god in my marrow.
Chills in the spine a sweet tingling
On the skin as our soul mingling
Across space attachment without possession
Angel love, human love, Adam and Lilith


Opus to Inward Travel

From where do the roots of an opus grow
A frantic brain or exotic flesh of resistance
A frantic vein a malcontents vengeance
Since Abel was slain by Cain in the field we all sow
Eyes, ears, nose, tongue, to fingertips chant vain
To counterfeit beauty pounded to dust by times train
Defined before Buddha dust to dust bone to gravel
Ravages unravel in mindful inward travel
And all energy and purgatory will wane
Mercifully releasing my impostor's duty to have all

{Poems by Jeff Steinle}