Here

is an idea.

Don't think it.

Don't think "here."

It's just a thought
that stops the mind
and gives it locus.

Hocus Pocus.

Apart from that idea
where is the mind?

There --

hocus pocus.

Just a word.
A bird
in your head
's bright warbling.

"Be Here Now."
Or else: "off somewhere."
Your choice.

Where's that tree?
Not here.
Off somewhere.
Alone
in some blue mind.

Those visions
that came
in the hat you wore --

just put it on -- and it
puts you on. That hat
you have
puts you on.

Picasso came to your house
in secret.
He was a friend of the man who
beamed it up.

And now the only place there is
comes home to roost
as THIS place --
a courier of Place Itself
against all feeble heredom.

There was a bird
in some century

and certain women now

were it
then

and they danced
        in place

they danced the place

in its very center    dancing.

Take the thought of place away
and the things
in their shapeliness
take up space
into their very nature.

The shape it was
sat down inside it.

Now a blot comes down. All light.
It passes through old walls
and takes our thoughts back.