When my sun is hidden, I must rely upon on my moon’s shine.
When my chakra is askew, I must realign.
Learning the things I already knew.
They flew over my head
cause I’m cuckoo.

Wistfully,
I wish I was watching the world from above
on a white flying fortress floating far away from the fauna
and the fickle fools who fight for nothing. Their efforts are fruitless.
Up on my cloud, my cleverness creates cloud-constructs.
These constructs convey to me knowledge both cerebral and celestial.
This sends me higher; to the cosmos.
There, I get caught up in catechisms which force convulsions.
The spinning Sun stares into my silly soul, saying “Such stupidity!”
Scowling, I scorn the stars.
Further still I ascend, astounding the astral plane.
I acquire it all.
And now I know it is
nothing.
Never have my nerves been so wracked.
I weep wildly wishing for when I was waging war
with a woman’s warmth.
Waking up with wet eyes and wounded heart, I stand and walk.
I no longer wonder why.

I am more a warrior than a man.
I chose the pen. I did not choose the hand.
An intention is freedom.
My will will be my leader,
ultimately undefeated:
surrender.