Life is a brush fire... dreaming.
A penumbra of the void.
Life is where God left His hammer.
A black pearl on black sand.
The one with the blue heart
and the mad men.
Life is thin air made flesh; the pinnacle of divinity-
with a blunt tip.

Days are optional. Nights are mandatory.

That's Life -
Deep down, where we live
in the Future every moment.
Life is a sad
piece.

Wince
at the sun for a nickel,
and that's almost what it feels like
To believe in your soul
but not your eyes.
Life is all
around
you.

A field of poppies
and prank calls.
A flood of Harmonies
alluding
to your
Truth.

That you have no idea
How to play your
instrument -
Is the funny
part.

That it All seems to work.... sheer genius

We are Alive,
and that
Is the pivotal intent
of the Prime
Mover.
The Lucid Grace that All Creation, Made.
A Reflex of an Infinitely Loving
Conundrum -

We are the Children
of a Living Mystery...
from clay,
say some.

But know this.

[ Life is a gift that keeps on Dying ]

and will do it for nothing....  

if you let it.


Life is a Dreaming Cause, A Sleeping Crusade;
Tossed out of Heaven's bed
Into The Cavernous Crib With The Milky Way Mobile
Spiraling in Entropy... Life looks up.
And Life looks down,
With your
eyes.

We are the null set, and the set of all possible sets.
We are the Premise that inspires Love to magnify.
That Lens between the Sun and the Ant
Is your Soul.

Life is not -
exactly.
And Death's a
lazy-Susan.
And Nothingness
is poetry
that bleeds a
moon to
ruin... as high
above -
stars are sliding
fortunes into
cookies
and everywhere
our banquet -

sprawls.