so afraid was i
to put pen to paper
for fear nothing would come, nothing
would reveal
and lo, behold—
what chance
to have stumbled
upon this place.
and but what if all my love turned to dust?
it would matte the silence like an untouched skin
electric
it came unseen, anterior to knowledge
exceeding it
desire was the flame, the heat, the function, the burning bright, the sun, the roar and the dance, the play of frivolous gods, the bite, the consuming, the unrest of molten core, spark, flicker
desire was the sea, the waves coming to claim what was only ever borrowed from them, the bounty and breast and beacon of life, that vast graveyard, the unending gift, now peace, now storm
and desire was void and lacked nothing and produced
the real
and what, for all that,
remains?
a quiet collection of dimming experiences
the tender redolence of human encounters
a song and music in the heart, if you are capable of listening carefully
a whole body blessed with the texture of gratitude
laughter—its promise
an eternal joy, given
in the senses
and senselessly
go now among the strange things of this world
and may your existence be a dance across time
to have dared will always have been
the essential,
come desert, or mutilation,
or even flight
if yet flight.
we do not yet tread among the ashes of the sun.
there is something vaguely familiar to hope in that
at the very least. on.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 9:01 AM UTC
so afraid was i
to put pen to paper
for fear nothing would come, nothing
would reveal
and lo, behold—
what chance
to have stumbled
upon this place.
and but what if all my love turned to dust?
it would matte the silence like an untouched skin
electric
it came unseen, anterior to knowledge
exceeding it
desire was the flame, the heat, the function, the burning bright, the sun, the roar and the dance, the play of frivolous gods, the bite, the consuming, the unrest of molten core, spark, flicker
desire was the sea, the waves coming to claim what was only ever borrowed from them, the bounty and breast and beacon of life, that vast graveyard, the unending gift, now peace, now storm
and desire was void and lacked nothing and produced
the real
and what, for all that,
remains?
a quiet collection of dimming experiences
the tender redolence of human encounters
a song and music in the heart, if you are capable of listening carefully
a whole body blessed with the texture of gratitude
laughter—its promise
an eternal joy, given
in the senses
and senselessly
go now among the strange things of this world
and may your existence be a dance across time
to have dared will always have been
the essential,
come desert, or mutilation,
or even flight
if yet flight.
we do not yet tread among the ashes of the sun.
there is something vaguely familiar to hope in that
at the very least. on.
