Hands, as delicate flowers fraulein.
Life so delicate, yet strong as spidroin.  

Daughter, mother, life, death;  tethered Aura
of preternatural forces, you are Sophia on Quora.

I am now realizing what's more ah
sweet aura, for the fores of life to crystallize and form a wet web;

A rainbow of sunshine's warm energy, sweet synergy,
dancing between the alpha and omega, love's light in victory.

There was a buzzing, woke me from my bed,
(in the place between my ears)
calling me to a place where I'm not alone.
Dreams are fantastic in lovers arms instead,
especially when you've been lonely on your own.

Faint, just a whisper, forgotten;
clumsily on the edge of infinity,
ready to drop into a pool of what's rotten,
you're lost in sweet serenity.

Blissfully alive.
                  But where is your buzzing?
                                                   Where is your soul?

Surely you would have noticed
the subtle silence of a mausoleum,
the clattered bones of yesterday
only scatter when ya see em.

And I'm too 'fraid to 'pollogize for my mistakes,
misdeeds and mistreating you.
I've seen the floor that you whip me with,
and its not worth meeting too.

So I've decided to surrender
                         to that sweet sweet serenity.

I've decided to surrender to that sweet serenity,
running on dreams, standing alone
on a crowded sea of enmity. (I just don't care anymore!)
Its time to sleep. its time to open this door and find myself home.

I can't remember how I got here.
A striving to remember what I was
lead me to a song that I never heard.

Neck and my body strain,
its only when I'm dancing
that I feel like I'm alive.  

But I sit in this lazy boy all day instead.
arthritic hands typing and clicking on internet pages.
I have put myself on the doorstep of death.

But I can't complain about my sore ***.
Or the pain in my head. All I can do
Is remember that life is a cosmic drama dreamed

I am a messenger of the future, hidden truth, planetary organism.
Part of being a seer is knowing when you are going to exit.
I know that I am ready.

I promise to let go of you;
not the reality of you,
but of my thoughts about you.

When I hold on to you, the idea of you,
my image of you, that expectation of you,
I lose you.

To meet you here, now, I must be me.
To love you I must love myself
because the only thing that can truly see you is me myself and I.

I'm done with worry; I'm done with pain.
All I want is a love that can sustain
my heart, my mind, my soul without complaint;
and bring emotions to blossom without constraint.

My river has become a flood
upon the surface of my heart, and within my blood,
so I have turned and changed my dream
to redirect this living stream

From finding love in a place outside
to discovering the truth that does reside
within the very heart that strives to love
so now I see, it was me I was dreaming of.

Black Lives Splatter on the heal of American Jackboot Patriotism.

When will black lives matter?
When all life ceases to be divided into races,
and we are seen as a single species,
as a spectrum rather than as separate colors.
No matter how devastating this reality may be,
it is the reality.

The world is out of balance: koyaanisqatsi!  
Numinous, my heart's nemophilist alerted to the danger,
yet presently in rasasavada,  espies the solstace moon and cries
in acatalepsy:  Mamihlapinatapai with the hunter within...
Should I embrace this smultronställe,
cought in the ostranenie of meliorism,
or drift from this vorfrued to sophresyne;

My only desire is the nurishing erlebnisse of metanoia,
of my dérive towards sehnsucht:
of rasasavada, that I may insulate myself from the Weltanschauung
of modern society, hiraeth to a nefelibata.

Bathing under the cool glow of a thousand million stars--
shattered mirrors reflecting your brilliance--
you are the sun, and the great deep your lover.

When I am not there, you see the emptiness in all its implication:
the death of stars, the beauty of change, and the soft significance
that all of this is happening without you, and within you.

I hear you call to me in the midnight hour,
longing to be touched by the warmth of a familiar star.
But I am as empty as the great deep, filled with peace, surrounded by chaos.

There is a sinking discomfort at my core
my ego falls into a pit of quicksand, lost forever more;
lost to the lingering sorrow--for tomorrow will be
as it was today: languishing, writhing in emptiness...

To trust the world, my mothers breast,
as if the heart of man were best,
suited to the freedom that nature blessed
her children of the wild quest,
is folly of the highest order:

poverty and disorder
corruption from the roots to the fruits;
and the starving of this world abound
unseen and unnumbered.

To feel hunger, to know the dark dimension of despair;
this the tyranny of society perpetuates upon itself:
to be a pauper, a peon, a peasant, a pleb under the rule of another;
to work as a slave to someone else's cause and convenience.

To be individual instead of indivisible,
to be alright with the starving children in Africa
if it means I can buy new shoes.

Hunger does not begin or end with you.
Hunger is the slave master of a thousand and one kingdoms.
Hunger is the gatekeeper to the kingdom of heaven.
Appease him and the world will know peace.

If in my life, my love I question—
And question I my love right now—
Then let the providence of my true thoughts reprove.  
It is the after-*** feelings of a man—different from a woman—
That makes our love so hard to find, to prove, prevail,
And express presently.

No commitment--we want no feelings felt--
But it is with the tides; our rational dissolves our masculinity,
And the words from lips that be love, itself a symbol,
And the coveted presence of such beauty too.
I lie; I lied for I love and I should ne’er reprove.

I’ve got to **** her to prove I’m worth the time—
that she doesn’t need that other job
and that she wants to be with me.
I’ve got to **** her,
so she knows that I’m a man,
a person worth relationship;
that can please her any time,
and pleasures looking good.
I’ve got to **** her so she’ll stay with me,
and love no other men,
to keep her love as strong as now.
Love is always mad.

I am on the front of a beach, a seas exit or entrance.
There was a feeling of superficiality in my vision, and my conception.
The waves, **! The keepers of the fleeting see on the soon-to-be-night tide.
They were so subtle as to loosen me in placidity, a melting hypnosis of crashes and slides. Thus was the nature of my moment with god. I was thus, thus was thus, thus was truth, god was truth, and the moment was god.

And oh, what a season, of fire and explosions, of the heat of summer and the love of the summers warmth, in the night that blew a silver wind in the moonlight, and the days that would either burn your skin, or tan it, depending upon constitutions. And depending upon the angle of the eyes, one could see the beauty of either the blades of grass, where there is no single blade, or the golden-sun dusk that was the most beautiful red, orange, blue, violet, becoming deeper as every memory of the day passes with the sun for new memories to take their place. And I will sit and wonder at the new sky, the freckled face of the drawn beauty, made demure, made to endure, though the moon gets smaller, though the day seems longer, though slept through. I will sit and wonder, until the darkness fades, the silver turns molten; the freckles turn pure blue, the true colors of his natural shyness. Just then, the day seemed like the beach, a seas exit or entrance.    

There was a beauty in the ever foreseen sorrows of the future. Where the time became a fortune telling bell that, even the dulled mind, could hear and know where the tune was going. So as far as the ghastly face of death was concerned, we thought she was a beauty, a dancer at the ball, where infinity, god, oblivion, and me where fixed upon her her, as she was the spitting image of the beach, a seas exit or an entrance.

I love you more than I can sleep,
I love you more than I can weep;
I love you when I think or pray,
I love you when I eat or play;
I love you like the poet's muse,
I love you like the summer hues.
My heart, it aches for every beat,
which thump and tremble when we meet.

Tired of being spectators, they threw down their beer, turned their eye from the spectacle of it all, and started clogging the gears of poisoned progress with their designer clothes, smart phones, televisions, and credit cards carrying the debt of ages.

No longer the spectators, passively accepting their elected fate, they burned the ballot box with the ember of liberty; but it was their breath of righteousness that turned that box to flame. It was only after they turned off the television that they realized their banal heroism--their right to fame.

Together they would inherit the earth in its shabby state, knowing that if they could make it past this winter, a new spring would emerge from the seed they had sewn; no man or woman could hold back the feeling of regret for the past, but it was the children, unseen and unnamed that would strip them of the past, and pave new roads to the future.

Its not a matter of your body or your age
the truth doesn't carry weight, but sets the stage
for the flow of knowledge: wisdomage.

To abandon nothing, but reinvent everything
including the wheel of your mind;
a complete surrender, absent knowing;

Inheriting nothing, reinventing nothing
including the dreams that you are;
a complete surrender to the way thus far.

We cherish the day, met humbly
without a care, in side and out a tribe in harmony
creating together, sans competition:
pacific planets orbiting the Sun.

The difference between beauty and mediocrity:
beauty is a symptom of rarity and complexity;
mediocrity is a symptom of culture capital.

Whatever we can be convinced to believe
becomes the reality.
Its a brave  new 1984 world

a prison planet
Scientifically designed to launch us
directly into a black hole.

Studies have shown that corporal punishment
at a young age
only results in learning disabilities,

God smacking the grey matter out your brain...

So the cycle of self, ego, perpetuating abuse, goes.
It is a series of footsteps, streams that become rivers;
and we are composed of these chaotic streams: energy
Dreams.

And my brother is a perfect window into "America"
He has a five year old boy, a Girlfriend with a boy and a girl;
They both believe in tough love and hitting;
On Sunday, as they were entering my mothers house,
his son hit him with a snow ball near the crotch, so he hit him
in the stomach, and I saw the boy lose his breath.

"You're a terrible father."  
I picked him up as he started crying.
My brother said he was bad all day before that.

What am I to believe?
That you are raising, caring for, and loving unconditionally,
or you are ******* up as a parent by hitting your child?
What am I to believe? That glimmer of light is a deamon
or that the deamon is you, my brother.

When you slap your child, or any animal, you reduce it
its brain, its body, and its mind. That's why alphas ****;
they just want to reduce the other males around them.
Its an evolutionary trait that carries through to today.

And so do fools, my nephews mother wants to medicate him...

when science meets spirituality, mind spirit
we replace the box with a tree, a galaxy.
We replace the pill with therapy, and community;
petrol with the sun, burning a hole
in the unity of our dreams and the whole of our destiny.

Little old lady, sitting in a car
oh how lucky, lucky you are
to be living in a country made out of gas
all put forward to feed your fat ***.

The pimple faced gernment representative told me
I had to hold my pollinated dreams until
next season.

And in my school house dream
matthew told me his dream
nothing less than Sustainable Planet

And as I started to argue, I realized,
my mouth was full of seasoned nuts
full of warehoused food,

because I could not attend
lunch, at this newly packed cafeteria;
I was on a mission to... I forget now
but in my dream it was **** important!

Now that I'm awake, trying to write a poem
that captures the meaning
all I can tell you, as you read my heart
is that no one can tell you when to start
caring about your dreams.

Get on your moral high ground and shout out to the world
"I'm MAD as HELL and I'm NOT gonna TAKE it ANYMORE!"

And unless you get knocked off your high horse
and unless you find your voice dry, horse,  
don't stop yelling until others join you--
because they will join you. We all want freedom
We all want the dream, but will we fight for it
to make it happen? Would you fight for love,
For life?? Would you fight for survival?

This is it, its this or oblivion, its sustain our childish
fever of consumption,
level out our infantile pride or
rest quietly into forever.

They say sustainability is what were after
but what we really mean is sanity;
they say rational policy is what were after
but really what we mean is enlightenment.

I'm asking you to change the wheel of your mind
and your asking me to hold my order until the window!
Can I have fries with that?
Make it a KING sized!
**** your frizzy fries, and your listless orders,
I want none of them, give me liberty or give me DEATH!

It's only when silence fell between us
that I knew how lovely was the sound.

My thoughts betray me, as I betray you.

*
And more and more I am starting to see
there are too many dip ***** on the dance floor for me
to continue to dance, and seek romance
with a foolish face of humanity.

You broke into my heart
like a vagabond, drifting in and out;
and I smelled the American spirit
you left behind;
the cherry burning
left a scar on my conscience
like the word selfish, uttered insipidly by your lips;
and I was broken, pumping not blood
but frozen memories from my veins.

And the feeling still haunts me--
of being ignored by the one I love;
I thought it shouldn't bother me,
we've barely met, and yet
when we talk I can feel your energy
flowing into laughter, from one heart
to an other. There is no other.

Now I'm the drifter, listlessly annoyed;
I thought you were the one,
but now its me that you avoid.
A, void, avoid. I feel the emptiness
without you--the one I told you about,
the one that makes me feel death
creeping into my very hands,
yearning for a radical change I cant deny,
nor desire.

If you take me by the hand,
and guide me through the door;
make me understand,
and show me what's in store;

If you can see beyond my mind,
beyond my ego, not my heart;
We can leave the past behind,
to make this new, and at the start.  

*

You told me about your evil ex.
I was broken *****, sulking when
you said he left you salty, sad
then you broke it to me:
no more bands of romance, only fun
with some one...

'not you, not yet,
maybe never.'

Now I'm standing on the outside looking in
and I realize its not about you, its about me
I just never had the self respect to really fight
for someone that made me feel worth fighting for.

Now I'm the guy that you avoid,
and you're the girl I've got to get over
to feel my sour feelings sweetened,
Now that I'm the guy that you avoid,

And that is what it feels like: a void
inside my chest, like a missing signal
a broken transmission from heaven to heart.
Sigh
And I miss the feeling of feeling.

old as time, and poetic as rhyme:
old grey heads waiting to chime
like carrion birds hungry for crime...

Some spend their life wanting glory;
repeating the past, their fathers worry,
until the mask of death ends the story.

But I will not be so shallow
to rend or to waste , fallow,
that which guides our fate towards that shadow.

Glare deeply into the eyes of war,
prepare your heart to end the score,
to end the game, and those wanting more.

Carrion with your illusions  
stricken with a fear of here
after. There is no pain,
no thought, no more masks;
what was hidden isn't pretty, but
more beautiful than words describe.

Sing, since the sounds of creation!
Sing till the hounds of desolation! Roll
this dancing digital hologram;
It, is all of it's self, and We are It, i and its:
together we are a planetary organism.


Death will come soon in various ways
when the candle burns from all sides,
it no longer matters how much time you have,
the flames will consume everything.
The sands of time are proof enough:
disintegration renders all to cinders on the ground.

No Boundary, the mask unveiled.
I-I co-pretend, this game is real,
senses, so sensual, so gratifying.
Thought! Creativity, being; Wisdom
calms the chaos in radical transition.

The desert to the sea, the forest,
the map is not the territory, it takes fractals
to measure a coast line, and of course computers.
We are being made obsolete.
Best to reinvent the wheel of our mind.

Change the dialogue of our public service
Announcements that amount to nothing,
while the people speak nothing is heard, but whispers
in a land of the brave, this bunch of slaves may be depraved.
I'm sick of lying to myself. Lets be honest and transcend!

Hidden, behind all the things you do;
you cherish the mile, the medium, the money,
convenience is a specialty, and status the while.
The perfect personification of capital: a slave;
Property in a picture, capital a drug; the presidents on TV,
and we're all here because of love.

To use love--a materialist notion--getting wet, but not wed.
Going hard, but no rain, ice falls, and summer set.
Collect the dials and never forget that you are dreaming,
when you are stuck in that spiral, just reach out and find me.
Corporeal copulation: congealed cortex conversations,  collide beside me.
We are one self, and no status the while can stop We!

My life was simple, and everything comfy cosy
before you came along?
A stagnant slump, preventing me from growing.
The mere suggestion at first impetus, providence delivered,
but since you're a bittersweet memory, you will be forgotten.
I didn't really want you anyway, not your life, not your personality,
really just your affection, your honey.
Neither angry, just disappointed, not jealous, just happy.
But really deep down I'm glad you didn't pick me
and as I look deep into my heart, I know that you were poison.

Beyond all boundaries, internal and external, we reach for the stars.
Alternative paradigm, paradise distributed, consciousness applied.

So alien, it seems, to be a believer in the power of human will.
The balance of forces, a mastery of the terrestrial realm, not its capital,
but its land, environment. Econ, Eco, eco-nomy, marx missed.
George, progress and poverty, all the money you make will never buy back
your soul. Your kingdom, question the system, change your values!

Ecoculture, biodomes, organic farming, zero point energy.
Ecoculture, biodomes, organic farming, zero point energy.

Every stretch, every connection, closer to perfection.
Unfit for human consumption, sporadic.  Disss

Peace and prosperity to the world, live long and love well.
Acceptance and appreciation, Agape, education, economic democracy
cosmic consciousness!

Struggling to stay asleep,
struggling to stay awake.
With a lover in my bed,
and her soft skin in my head
I cannot sleep so she cannot sleep,
and after a ten hour shift at 3 am
her head is in the z zone,
but I am wide awake.

My heart and my head are the master
of this moment. Of this moment
I am a chastised babe wanting more,
ever more; and she, a hot headed *****
turning the page that sans ardor.

Body, mind, and spirit:
  itself aware through it: self.
I witness i am.

I don't know if I want to live anymore.
To be or not to be, to see and not be seen;
those hermit eyes can see right through me.
And I feel ignored, passed over, strung out
on the wicked surface of a thousand liquid crystal screens,
on the lips of paltry kisses forgotten.  

I don't know if I want to live anymore
he says with a troglodyte twang
grappling crippled finger bones the keys of ivory sang,
dried, cracked lips with tight reed slicks the river bank.

And I am insane for being sane in an insane world.
Friendless, I feel forlorn, and like so many others,
self-reflection terrifies me more than death. Boredom,
on the border between depression and peace, between suicide and meditation.

Teetering on the edge of the abysmal,
fortunes fool animates an impetuous illusion:
the act of insignificance, the play of powerlessness.
May I die with insobriety, but in life, in spirit, inspiration.

Your lunar crescent dips
beside my tide, your moon glow lips, rippling,
slips me into a deep, watery sleep.
I am but a dancer beside you; your third eye glares into me:
spectacular stars in twilight;
swirls entrance like Starry Night in Van Gogh's day dreams.  

Come dream with me!
Come cleaner than the day you were conceived.
Show me the face that you had before you were born.
Closer, we combine the forces of nature: sublime.
We,  in One Self
unfold as the universe unfolds.

Sweet trinity, holy inspiration,
that those stars would gaze upon me,
and I those stars.

First, I am the rising sun
and on the coast, I am the crashing waves at dawn
I am the forest murmur, the silent song
I am the nameless nativity,
and when you slow your pace to a stillness, I am there.

My radiance fills the hour and the place
footsteps fall, that leave no trace;
I am the passing cloud, a deep breath you take
cracks in the pavement, a grand escape.

I am your love's embrace, and so much more,
the thunderous sound and the dancing floor,
I am the moments laughter, and biting pain;
my full embrace can drive you insane.

I am the twilight and the milky way,
you find me on the mountain, and as you peak,
and see me in the haze that billows when you speak;
I am the city lights that pull the stars from the heavens to earth;
and when you find me, remember that I am you.

Money is a **** producer, who mascarades as a professional film producer, promising fame and fortune to young girls in LA.

Money exploits us all, telling us to cry on his **** as he forces it down each of our throats.

MMM

Money talks its valuable poetry, cha ching as we take the money shot, the money shot, the money shot...

Blaw! we take the money and run. Exploited, every one of us carries this inflated value; running around with our heads chopped off.
Where did we put our heads?
Not a one realizing how.
We put our heads collectively in the sand.

Money talks, but we dont. Money walks, but we wont. Money marches, but we cant stand. Can't form a coherent sentence while we're getting ******.

"If my dad finds out he will destroy me!"
"I won't tell."

Money wants us young, dumb, and full of idiom; and as the bubble bursts, we can't help but feel depressed.

Our faces are all over the internet. America the beautiful, I can hardly see your face behind the biggest, blackest ****.

If you want to turn anyone into your own personal *****, first you got to get the money!

Money is king. But is he kind? Money is our god, but what kind?

Money money money, MONEY!

The lyrics of every rap song on the top 100

Can we get some hoes and some money that we can throw's up in here!?

It's what we all want, and its what we all fear. Money controls us and rules us without a peer.

Money replaces trust, it replaces common decency, and puts a friendly mask on the face of a murdering monster.

Money makes me sick. It smells like burning flesh if you read it just right, and put your nose up real tight, it can start to burn you too.

Roll a hundo, give Ben a sniff. Money doesn't care if you sell it off to buy drugs or a train wreck. Money isn't ethical and neither are you.

Money wants us all to bow down, and when we rise up, we look like monopoly men.

Give me some money and I can change the world into a paradise on earth; give your local bank some money, and our world looks like a shopping mall.

Family, the heart of the tribe resonates beyond the horizon
beyond the soul into the great spirit, Mother Earth;
her eyes open as ours start to form; a single breath between us all,
in--and out we scream with uncertain emotion.

The spring of all life swells with joy at the notion:
the birth pangs of a new childhood, a circular trust, and a tribe reborn
in the spiritual spectrum of all ages and cultures.
Glistening, on the surface of oceans of joy, Father Sky smiles effulgent.

You are incredibly worth while,
I'd bend over backwards to see your smile
When you showed me your dreams
and you sang me your song it seems
that I could never forget you
in all my heavy years to get through
to a daffy dilemma that fools fall into.
To a higher tune than the ravages of men
and a softer sound than that most often
Given on the branches of lost relations.
Salvaged by the hearts of two native nations.

(Him and Her)

Who's self portrait is this,
ragged, aged, what did I miss?
An unkind future's true mistress,
bewildering my mind's new witness
for an unfamiliar face to resign in bliss.

This: the ache, the strain
delayed;
Betrayed the high way
is
The pain.

Swiping clean the mask
and peeling…
Off the skin,
and off the layers.
I say, “Off with rotten reverie!”

And to the bottom
splayed
and lust confronted. Wish
The ****** made
unchaste, and further hunted…

Bade. The wire and the sound
the wind upon the end
when wild
the civil keepers
Child, in vane, a-tempts

the sane
with flesh and blood to taste
the wine and bread,
Again,
will strain the strings,

of heartless, thoughtless,
loveless, self
protected by analysis:
Paralysis. Portrayed
in the light by time (and life) itself
Again!

There is a
Sorrow on the surface of
Your eyes, and a distance
in your voice like the
Stars.
Your love seems more
like Charity, and when
You sit, your attention
,down cast, seems
Pious. There is no
age in your skin
as though you are still
being born!
And when I speak with
You, there is an emptiness
In your words, and I am made
      Happy and Sad by
Your hidden silence.

And I made you a
Heartsong. I played it,
and sang it in the morning
when the breeze brought
dew, and the mist was
bright, and the birds
sang too.

And I made you a
Poem. And your cheeks
were roses, suddenly blooming;
and trailing behind me
were ten thousand peddles,
each one representing a
thought of you.

Baby time is calling to its window
The stars blink in, and fade to ash.
And I am a flower, a rose, a passing hour
Amid a cup of space—horizons twine.
My consciousness is a photon firing,
And we are the matter of gods.

Infinity is painting a self-portrait—
Its faces are everywhere,
Changing and remembering.

When the portrait is complete,
There will be another, by a new hand.

I knew once you had the chance, you’d take it
So I bottled up my sadness in pride and manhood
In the hope that one-day you’d come and change me
But that day never came; I’m still on the ropes
Where the days are still and my hopes are changed
Your smell is still on my mind, and the feel of your clothes
Every moment is the last; every memory is calling

There was a time when the phone rang, and it was you
Those moments were the light of what I knew
I held them dear once, but I know the truth now

All known things are meaningless in time
My death will bring the swift end to what I consider life
--security and the wonderful warmth of such—
The relationships I held so dear were nothing
Because they were between untrue self idols
I know this now, and I realize that unless we hold no
Imagination
Human beings will have no relationship

Let go of “self” to be self
Feel for another and not for security
(The ubiquitous trade)
Know another and not the image constructed
Find no comfort in me—that’s my job—
Love me and not your imagination
Know me and not your imagination

For so long we’ve been playing as puppeteers
Our false images make fumbled motions as we watch behind curtains
Come out and meet me and I will meet you
And we will share movements that no strings can orchestrate

Trysts of beached
          and branchless relationships
               have led my mind to call the    
tides insecurity for truth,
        but this old jug of liquid fire is melting glass
                  so I think my craw needs a-wait f’r a-asking for.
       When I get the slur off my tong,
          the day will be done
And what happens tonight’s gonna kick my *** ‘til Tuesday.
                                              Goodbye worries;
                             I hope to see you in hell on Wednesday.    

                                  Let me sleep,
                                     or my dreams
                                         will explode  
                                             into reality.
                                                  Please.

love I not your lips, but the words that you say
With wit and a candor we think much the same
love I not your eyes, but the way that you stare
True silence be met with the turbulent pair
love I not your cheeks, but the way which you smile
Your carefree laughing hides status the wile  
love I not your hands, but the way that you touch
Warm, temperate passion fills my body with much  
love I not your charms, but the spirit you contain  
A beauty of all life in one woman such sustain

I would plunge into you and taste your waters.
I your pacific shores...

Sands conform,
waves wax and wane;

Be as the sunset burns,
behind rows of blackened ferns

Sway across the summer dunes
I see your eyes, they are sun and moon.

Green cascading from the smooth curves of her hips—
unmoving—of velvet flowers that I approach.
Silken, they are; and with balm applied I kiss her lips.
Wandering to discover Eden, without reproach,
hands and eyes journey together, seeking
what pleasure, what ecstasy, delight  
the texture of her soft skin returns to me, peaking,
I am only hers tonight.

And yet the sun is not in keeping
with the children of her Eden shores,
swallowed up by her catlike creeping,  
why side to side, like waves of joy
crashing in curves of green velvet cascading.

Eyes ablaze, yet shoulders coy
her stare implodes my chest, inflating  
waves of rapture, collapse, and drown me so
I am but a child of sudden, timid choice.
Why her eyes that say come hither, come slow,
that motion stills and vibrates with her voice,
yet I am a silent caress that goes
up and down her thigh intending, from her waist
to her lips; I am not a fool to woes
nor a child to her eyes unchaste.

Lo! Reflections of the crescent moon,
the night unfolded like dreams hidden behind her eyes
that call “lover,” to me soon
I know, and yet cannot impede reprise
for she is the sun that draws me out,
and I am the seed that sprouts ***** before her.

Choiceless and unaware of clout
hiding nothing as if nothing were
the object of my affections streaming
from the fingers stroking down my chest,
to lips that pucker open, and to her eyes, beaming
shatter the gray of storm and jest
that by the sounds of thunder repeating
could not find meaning in the apparatus of her smile
nor the significance of her heart.

Yet still I search beyond the mile
to understand what plays its part.
The answer must lie at dusk
between the hours sweet and bitter, which have no time,
but smell like musk
and whispers softly in sweet and gentle rhyme.

You, that flower barely blooming; I bear thy pollination.
It is my purpose solely to cause the fruit of thy creation.

Nano art, my pantheism is objective idealism. God is in the details:
the stamen, the leaf… all is fractal, some charmingly chaotic,

All scenery composed, each part of reality is a representation;
a word of the language of reality in her garden.

Her voice is sweet like the honey suckles. Pale like her petals.
All a play, a dance, a game to the night and the sun, and to all her beloved travelers.

And while I watch her, this star behind moon and trees, behind all that I see;
behind my very being. Reality, her character is through and through me.

And in the act of creation, flower and I are as her representations,
There is no thought to our most profound desires.

Innate will to live; our mother is the essence.
Death and life are her androgyny displayed

When I feel my hand
And the sensations feel
My world is real
Strange reality, love reality

Mother reality
This is the source of my fantasies.

To be, to this immense sensation
Knowledge
         and time and life’s
Uniqueness, displayed in every moment.

Daily, this is but one day.

The words I have not to say.
The world I have not to understand.
Moment to moment, stranger by the day.

How unique? How unique.
This unique! This. Uniqueness,
Displayed so believably.
But death is the truth, inconceivably.

That, is belief through ignorance.

We do not die. We do not live.
We love, we are nothing. Death in life.
Suspended in the air. Subjectively…