Beside a quiet pond
On the country side
Bird of blue and gray
Spoke three tongues
Told truths, never lied
An indifferent sort of way

It sat there still, in quiet
And thought deeply
Asking why it must roam
The pond spoke to it
And it sang so sweetly
About this unknown

pierces deeper                               
                                                                ­           than a lover's cynic scourge
impaling orifice of epistemic fruits                                                           ­           
                                                                ­                       appalling so to rather choose      
a flowing coat of blood,                                                          
­                                                                 ­         an existential itch      
of ripe,                                  
                                                                ­                     strawberry scabs            

     at least here, i can pirouette a shower
over all i think i've done,
attempt to paint the 'seen'
a pinker tint of womb-rose red:
she beats her heart into a blazing whirl
of painblooming over saying and the said.
wheels of joyspeed lose their path
as digging hands, tearing nails
grapple harshly at the roots of hair and other roots;

in the earthy darkening
you've found something...
                                                  yo­u have lost all things
you have found love, trapped love
                        eaten love
                  expelled love,              become love                     and destroyed love

   )))"i love you i love you iloveyouiloveyouiluvuiluviluvui<3ui<3ui<3i<3u<3<3<3"(((

some love was not love, some love was all love,
some love was yours and some was mine, some of
your love was my love, some of yours was all love,
some of mine was yours and some was all. period
some love speaks for some and all,
some for only some,
some for only all,
all love is... part of overcoming fear
all love is- (enter plethora of other meanings here)
all love... Is. period, period, period,
i wretch to define,
to cubicle with verbal caging
                               your unbridled                      spheroid knowing,
                                                  a patient                      sonar-esque acceptance
             that truth-hunting in the midst                      of love means: to suffer,
for all who love and seek to know its underside,
to continue ****** clawing in and out,
to shout for answers
like existence never lied.
all love is this/
for some and not for others,
it was this and now it's that:
i think of you, i'm changing,
i feel you, i'm changing,
i'm changing, i feel you are
there, a part of me, some part
of me speaking to all of me,
some poetic voice, some spiritual thing
beyond just 'spirits', 'things',
'meanings',
'sufferings',
'truths',
'hearts',
'blazings'
into different
swirls of wheeling joylists lost into
another us that is,
was and isn't us "forevermore" but finds us here again, unchanged