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Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
Aaron Mullin Nov 2018
In a meadow of wildflowers
under a warm blanket of alpine aromas,
a gusting front gives warning
of impending change yet we sit, observing
as the sun also rises into the moons embrace
July 21, 2018
Aaron Mullin Sep 2018
Working your way out of ionic ******* can be
seriously interesting however, it can also be
lugubrious.

I was standing in the aisle at Bulk Barn.
low on neutrinos, I was looking to stock up
I like to sprinkle them on my cereal in the morning

I then made my way down the anti-photon aisle
if you like your coffee black and not sweet, as I do
this is almost as good as other alternatives

I did realize that
my electron supply was fine
but thought I'd get some anyway
just for the ion-y

I don't understand the economics of this transaction
but it is apparent the invisible hand does

When the clerk looked in my basket
I was waved through
Working my way out of ionic *******, lol
Aaron Mullin Aug 2018
/                        been                       \
/                      thoughts                    \
|                           my                           |
|                         have                          |
|                  LANGUAGE                  |
|                           my                           |
|                            by                            |
|                 INFLUENCED                 |
|                              is                             |
|                            feel                            |
|                              or                              |
|                              do                              |
|                              or                              |
|                            want                            |
|                              or                              |
|                              say                             |
|                                i                                |
|                             that                             |
/                     EVERYTHING                     \
/                                   if                                   \

                  
^                                   ^                                ^
^                                   ^                                ^
^                                   ^                                ^
| language instructs | the way we think |
^                                   ^                          ­      ^
^                                   ^                                ^
^                                   ^                          ­      ^
This poem is rooted in play. If you read this poem in a linear fashion based on the rules of the English language, it will be nonsensical as if Jabberwocky wrote it.

If you take a step back and look at the form and structure and forget a little of what you think you know then you might understand how the narrative flows. And if you dig a little deeper, you might find a few Easter eggs for further contemplation.
Aaron Mullin Aug 2018
Think about it,
She off-handedly remarks:
Formality is separateness

Lost in one of the nebulous folds
Of my cerebellum
I acknowledge her comment with a thousand yard stare

Eagle eyed, I surf a warm updraft
To rise above it all
But I can't slip the prison of pre-conception

Amuse me, she says.
Whisper me your pretty little lyrics,
Sing me your song

You have one of the most interesting faces I’ve ever met
I brazenly tell her, and
My minds eye is full of anticipation

I know it’s pedantic
I am not so romantic
Maybe we should not peel back the veneer, but

A peak

It’s inexplicable

Naive and unassuming, with
Bashful sincerity, and
An enduring patience

Awaken: open your eyes
The serpent goddess counsels

And you will find your way
Written January 6, 2016 with insight from Cath Maige Tuired
Aaron Mullin Jan 2018
I saw a good person do a bad thing once
I thought I was a good person but I did a bad thing once, too

Have you ever seen a good person do a bad thing?
Have you ever been the good person doing a bad thing (on occasion)?

Have you ever seen...
<>the bars that imprison you?<>

Have you ever been...
<>the bars that imprison you?<>

There is a potential to be stuck behind the words & letters...
of this Song to the Open Road

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But look at the stars

|               |               |               |

And look at the bars

|A|n|d| |re|a|l|i|z|e| |t|h|e| |j|a|i|l|e|r| |i|s| |y|o|u|
Listening to Madeleine Peyrou's version of Between the Bars. Orion is having a good time laughing at my antics. Me? I am just ******* around with semantics while riffing on the Jailer's Daughter. Peace begins with empathy.
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