The flood of weekend fun
has ended -- its deluge

Of waves and love and friends
. . . as waves.

Persists, propels a new inspiration.
Inertia.
Forward.

Back to reality, to work,
responsibility.

To simple morning coffee,
once again,

That reminds me, simply,
once again,

That all these forms are my reality

There is no dearth
Of reality

No dearth

Of weekends
Of mornings
Of coffee
Of work
Of responsibility
Of friends
Of love
Inertia
Forms
Waves
Reality

No dearth
No dearth

Just fun

Just flood

~Oh! Delicious Death of Self~

your un-Selfing of Life
fermented sweet,

eyes opening,
filling with
| V O I D |

the substance of the
Nameless White Light's
Nothingness,
infinitely
present

Unblinking in its
inescapable
witnessing of
The All of its
not-self

would-be canopy trees
fight for forest light,
but we prefer to bask
in the open desert
sun

my fellow shrubs and I
share the dome-view
sky and elemental blast
equally

we burn the nightfreeze
and with our skirting wind dance
we flutter on the breeze, and
dream--
vertically

a frozen resonance of voices, drifting
cries, uninvited remembrance --

a selfless gift, trust arrives.

life must be chosen, and
the future re-righted

She leaned over
her concrete canvas,
       --The canvas
       that wasn't
       a canvas until
       the smile
       behind her smile
       made it
       So.

Ready for color-

She danced with
frozen rainbow
brushes
      --Solid/liquid fun
      that leapt
      and pirouetted,
      deliquescing in
      her hands
      . . . seemingly.

Made for making.

He watched her
steps, in their
       -Beginninglessness;
       projected-threw
       newborn light of
       old consciousness
       in motion
       Speaking.

Gestures of love-

Drawing together their
formlessly-aligned
intentions,
     -His two left feet
     tripping
     over her lack
     of back-
     facing eyes,
     that are
     without
     Purpose

when life is lived
by the living-
who do not try to
fold fate into
        tiny
        shapes
        of
        futility
  --Other than
        Themselves--

But prefer (rather)
to gambol with
existence
       in the fleeting
       endlessness
       of
       selfless
       company.