The Poet's Graffiti Wall Poem by Chuy Amante

My dreams are now poems
prose not with prowess

my dreams are reality

my marionette work (life)
with a meat puppet is a dream

What club do I dance in?
Is the dance real?
or is it the club?
or am I real?

I think the dance is reality
we are it's props

One wall of my house is a chalkboard
filled with delighful drawings,
notes, new words, old words and poetry

It is evolution, unfolding, before my
eyes, I write not of fears
I write of what is,
love is
light is
Balance is
Oneness ultimately
a return to home
completed
perfected?

What is left here in the dream?
Stage props everywhere
without meaning
filling to overflowing
the scenery of plastic trees
and fluff

What is left?
Where is reality now?
What does it consist of?

Bliss is reality
do you shun it
or welcome it
do you follow it?

choiceless, effortless
flow toward bliss
into the river of motion
to god's multi-colored ocean
we are drops
expressions
divine naturalists