Absolute science and art of being whole
at one and under no delusion that
mankind (or nature) give a ****
whether you amount
to something or not.
Narrowed down
nothing
nothing but matter matters, matter, content
of life (serious, love it) hate
death, for the hell of it, to
see what it's like in
the heart of
darkness.
Deeper and deeper I go
but who would bother to **** me
or love me? Belonging to the drums
of wooful war I
woof and bay like
every other
dog.
Down I go to the depths of material life
the material is spirit wrought
by the material world. The
drum and jet plane
the bird and sumac
the pollen
seed.
No answer is forthcoming for the young fool
importunes to ask too frequently
the fool's question. What
is my next move. He
steps lightly and does
not seem to care
quite where.
The
material world is reality, my friend
and sadness is the spiritual root
without which the love-nut
may be reached only
by stretching
the emotions
bare
raw, where desert delights exhibit
movement in the sunlit light. Where
none find their way
without following leaders
sometimes the wrong way.
The path
is
apart from the dance or the dancer who
cutting cross country laughs
at his perennial fright of being
caught outdoors, out of sight
alone with the wind and rain
for days on end
in hiding.
Up
on the roof, the telephone ringing,
books getting delivered to the library free,
gratis, no fire, no flood
a meager understanding
of what rolls
the earth.
Gravity
rolls the earth (and may sometimes rock it)
each of us achieving the gravity of a planet
and pulling the world apart with our loves.
Taking existence beyond the limits
set for it, into
the universe
beyond
We went out beyond the surf
into the adirondack of trees waiting,
wanting nothing, mountains
wanting to grow slowly.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
Absolute science and art of being whole
at one and under no delusion that
mankind (or nature) give a ****
whether you amount
to something or not.
Narrowed down
nothing
nothing but matter matters, matter, content
of life (serious, love it) hate
death, for the hell of it, to
see what it's like in
the heart of
darkness.
Deeper and deeper I go
but who would bother to **** me
or love me? Belonging to the drums
of wooful war I
woof and bay like
every other
dog.
Down I go to the depths of material life
the material is spirit wrought
by the material world. The
drum and jet plane
the bird and sumac
the pollen
seed.
No answer is forthcoming for the young fool
importunes to ask too frequently
the fool's question. What
is my next move. He
steps lightly and does
not seem to care
quite where.
The
material world is reality, my friend
and sadness is the spiritual root
without which the love-nut
may be reached only
by stretching
the emotions
bare
raw, where desert delights exhibit
movement in the sunlit light. Where
none find their way
without following leaders
sometimes the wrong way.
The path
is
apart from the dance or the dancer who
cutting cross country laughs
at his perennial fright of being
caught outdoors, out of sight
alone with the wind and rain
for days on end
in hiding.
Up
on the roof, the telephone ringing,
books getting delivered to the library free,
gratis, no fire, no flood
a meager understanding
of what rolls
the earth.
Gravity
rolls the earth (and may sometimes rock it)
each of us achieving the gravity of a planet
and pulling the world apart with our loves.
Taking existence beyond the limits
set for it, into
the universe
beyond
We went out beyond the surf
into the adirondack of trees waiting,
wanting nothing, mountains
wanting to grow slowly.
