To flow
Lost in the mind of unattachment~
Relation floats to the top,
Bubbling in iridescent mounds.
Blood spinning full body,
Taken ancient ritual
To lands unknown,
Abyss flies,
High collapse,
Forms dissolve to absorb.

Human knows, mankind blows its ashes
Into the sea
Where fish nibble surface gifts,
Crawl to form surface, lifts
Familiar exotica,
Erotica basks
In sunshine frays,
Grays may blend broken rays
Off the pleasure. Desire
Bubbles & brews to the top,
Furling into forms to which our touch is born,
Our travels sojourn,
Ever sifting, filtering the moon & the sun.

Feeling joy form & torn,
The reverb sung & proverb born,
Chug on, truck on
Traveling Celestial Mist.
The smoke sends its message to our ancestors,
Thanks & quests, may we rest &
Face our tests &
Jump off the highest crests &
Flow down through the darkest depths.

Fearless, shall we be, tearless, never be.
The taste & the smell, Earth’s story we shall tell & retell to our kin,
Our progeny rebel against the story of sin,
Announce the return to our dance, making sense of the din.
We may collapse the columns, but in deep truth
The cycles form regardless of ruth.

With that knowing smile,
A goddess wraps her finger
Round his golden locks,
Open, as always, they dangle and glisten,
If we would listen,
The fear would instantly disappear,
Jeers against the queer would shift into gear
To endear us to the weird &
We would cheer!

The dampness will burn,
The heartache will churn,
Our souls still yearn for
That moment when we lose it.
The bruised tips healing in the instant,
The shock waves reckon this is it
& the feedback expatiates past the limits.
We already have the wildness,
The bliss of expansiveness,
Still spinning in the Spiral Ever Endless.


10/28/12

I envy those who have no love in their lives.
I want to be the one who has nothing to care for, or about.
I am jealous of those who have nothing to lose beyond themselves.
They have their share of sadness, to be sure.
But, those who hold nothing dear, either by fate or choice,
cannot know the terror that comes with loving something, someone else, truly.
The overwhelming realization that this person, or thing, you love so dearly will some day be taken from you, or you from it,
is tragic on a scale that is unimaginable,
but felt all the same.
No, give me the life of the uncommitted,
of the freedom to love nothing,
with the highs always being low
making the lows seem so much higher.
Give me mediocrity of unattachment
in lieu of the purest love that defines life and shakes it to its core.
The trepidation of the later being too beautiful to handle.