swimming with horses,
running with dungeons,
playing with dragons,
hiding behind a fake forcefulness,
like a synthetical lioness,
that artificialness,
fake greatness,
fake lustiness,
fake lustre, lying on them
like a mattress, or
with covered up, less
than what really up to
in them minds

~Oh! Delicious Death of Self~

your un-Selfing of Life
fermented sweet,

eyes opening,
filling with
| V O I D |

the substance of the
Nameless White Light's
Nothingness,
infinitely
present

Unblinking in its
inescapable
witnessing of
The All of its
not-self

The dust expect seeds
life in the old rings of tree
inner child circles

reveries of sun-drenched prairies;
windswept under cottony clouds
golden-yellow in summery indolence

Don’t play
with the real people
in your life
they really are
rare