F l o w e r s   a r e   t h e   m o s t   B e a u t i f u l
I n  f o r m s,  c o l o u r s  and   E s s e n c e s
Galaxies Even rarer
         In
Fleur of cosmic Space
Threads of our  dreamy  dust
    Embraced in  no time  we drift
      E         n           d           l          e           s           s            l                y
                  Intimate       ­     Polarities             Sacred             Pollienation
          
                                        W o m e n    are   Rare  Flowers
                                  ­                M e n   Create~d:   for *Us

A fued between parallel polarities
Inner connections, of unwavering complexity
Veiled by the naked, winds of sincerity
I can change faces swifter than a Pharisee.

Hate, cannot be measured by scopes
The devil himself was failing to cope,
With the loss of his honor and the loss of his hope
God placed his neck into the hang man's rope.

A covenant that he broke, fought hard and he choked
Existence was a hoax, he traded virtue for jokes
And in the sanctum that withers, hides at night and then slithers
The black holes draw hither, when bliss becomes shivers.

I'll place my fate, into the hands of the Seraphim
His breath stops and still I can't carry him
Eyes that bear the sorrow of a paladin,
Repressed thoughts return and they devour him.

It's all another means of control
Man's wickedness, has long since taken its toll
We observe the illusion as our essence grows cold
Loss of passion is the loss of one's soul.

Between being and nothing, I cannot distinguish
Innovative thoughts, rise up and diminish
The pride resolves, until at last we are finished
We cannot reconcile with loss of innocence.

Minds trapped in pathological discourses
Ideology imposed by the ruling forces,
Too blind to seek truth at the heart of the sources
Dissent is drowned out in a fusion of voices.

They say death is the cousin of sleep
Perhaps that's preferable to these lives that we keep
We draw blood for the profits we reap
I see all around me red, white, and blue sheep.

Do you hate the way
     that our magnetized times
turn us all to metal shavings--
     push and pull--charged each
day to fill up negative space
with negative attraction?
Were you repulsed when polarities
                                          changed?

Or­ was that me?
     Flipping switches
                     switching sides
                                      siding
with pivot points showing, caught
with pants down?
"Be a man now!"
          While the female end
          of the port calls out,
          "Shipwreck! Shipwreck!
               All men down!"

Count me out at minus 4
     it leaves a balance: minus 3
At minus 10, our blood could freeze
and fall back earthward; blood red snow.
Caught on the tongue it tastes like pennies.
          Tastes just like
          the metal shavings
          we become
          in magnetized times.
               Polarized
and "Family Sized." Underpaid
Overfed. Neutralized America.

Greatest country in the ******* world.

                    Right?

9/23/21

Polarities
Possessing the mind
Stealing possibilities
If I am This
Then there is bound to be That

A perfectionist
Will find their enemy
In one who makes mountains
Out of molehills
And therefore renders themselves
Incapable

A person bound to their suffering
Suffers further
When they see others in their joy

A dislike of one thing
Pulls toward it one
Who likes that same thing
Ātman
Feeds on opposition

To free oneself
Starts from within
Diving into the divine
That which is limitless

Freedom is here
Connection
Is always an option
So long as one recognizes
Their own mortal, mental positions
And instead lends their mind
To curiosity

Here,
Love triumphs
And we all ascend.

On February 5th :
I am learning
how to drive
in between
metamorphoses
of snowy colors.

On February 5th :
If you look closely
you can see my
mother with her
legs firmly planted
onto the passenger
seat; she is silent
until we pass
a collection of deer.

We pass a collection
of deer and my mother’s
arms look the same
as mine do when I
am angry. Her face
is the Atlantic, full
of irritable little wrinkles.
(My mother’s face is always
the Atlantic, full of irritable
little wrinkles.)

When I was younger
her wrinkles screamed
at me with over-used lungs
until my body grew limp
like radish roots -- it’s just that

when I was younger
I had trouble seeing
the large gap between
snow and static no matter
how many times my mother
would try to emphasize
their differences.

But both dripped onto my
prickly face like newborn wine
onto sidewalks; both looked
just like my mother’s old wedding dress.

Hidden coves of love disguised by cold eyes
Chances not yet given.
Angry tones escape tooth filled holes
Drilling dissent through another's soul.
Selfish is the only answer,
yet not an excuse.
Forgive the fool.
He is you
She is I
We are one.
Negative polarities combusting innocent eyes.
Lost in the essence of the moment.
This is an apology for the mournful cries.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.
distinct beings intertwined amongst the influx
passengers and neighbors, reactive tension
impulses of separation.
pause for a moment. breath together.
similar beings galvanized by difference
nutrition for acceptance.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.

No-thing appears as polarities..

Appearances are invitations

To play..allowing the polarities to

Dance..and carry on in  freedom

In any way they wish..this gift of

Nothing..is the breaking of the

Links by which polarities have

Never been chained...