when angels get deadly bored in  angelland
they decide to matchmake yin and yang
a breathtaking game of -love and hate- kicks off
their watch broadcasts meditative brittle glitters
as expected from the dutiful glitter brittles

finally they also have fun
oh the glorious common hearted one

but for a while it remains
and ubiquitousness escapes

within that while infinite loop
while with
condition always returns
true
  
assured  they are
to have hoarded a concept of none
because only none can break the program

it runs
through
curls and whirls
attracts and repels
hums and vector sums
bubbly groans
made of sour cherry wood drums
asymptotic shapes of ascension moans
'Oh yes this surely is miraculous!'

one for fun
one for ‘oh please be my hon’
Stay at the jolly night of proms with us
we are so heartily amused!

They travel beyond ignorance
to a pointless point of their own absence
‘for the land’
they repeatedly say
from far far away

lost words as such
slowly produces by-products
made of tingly-wiggly bugs
capable of delaying holiness
of now
capable of creating time
for no one
with a halt sign

until game of supremeness bears a ...
break!
made of HUM
a Sound
like none
heard once
along the aileron of  a vitreous dome

while
the unheard stays
with the one
and which is of one

wipes off that angelland
for the better I guess

The Sun Is Shining Today
The Storm Has Finally Stopped

a statement says:
<we have done something yesterday
nothing like our best
just something
to stop that storm>
the statement returns true as fact

inconsequent gestures of nature
we weave
to serve an unknown wish
-made of numerous physical and non-physical senses-
so that fabric of a network  
evolves  itself
materializes sense
sense to fabric
fabric to sense
scientifically improbable it remains

an infinitesimal loop
unwinds when you are not there
runs within an ideally operating closed circuit
remains invisible to the factual eyes of daily lives

an etheric vitality
materialized by our definable senses of touch, of smell, of see, of taste
and some of yet undefined ones
- possibly  assigned to maybe a Poetic Variable-
executable within that program of simultaneous causalities only.

So then Only then
When You Combine the patchy Network
of Things
of Beings

You Can Dance Them
Sing Them
Play Them
Make Love To Them
Become One With Them
Compose Them

but

All these on condition that
it remains as an unpacked gift

Without telling to Yourself  
or to Others
or to That Storm
because
You Don’t Even Have An Intention To Stop The Storm
All you do is Wish for Sunshine so you can maybe bike tomorrow

But again

How important is it really that biking tomorrow ?
I mean when sighs and cries whirl around?

a statement says:
<you can’t stop wars by fights>
the statement returns true as fact

And

if I know that
you can stop storms by touches

touches to smells
smells to lights
lights to metals
metals to elements
elements to stars
stars to flights
flights to a breeze on my fingertips
breeze on my fingertips to an auric kiss

then

I think maybe it is **** important to keep a seemingly futile wish to bike to a beach of my dreams tomorrow
so that I can be blown away on a broken December day
and let my long hair collect dune corrals  made of cosmic ray

Huh So Yeah

I can Stop Storms if I want to or Create Some!
- not because I need to for my own sake or think about it.

your arousal fantasy
is a catch for me
comes in sound waves
enters my head
from the right ear
but no action required
I say
just observe
so I
pull it up a bit
- the activated tip
in the crypt -
from the line beneath
towards the umbilicus
spread
- the well calculated
as if instantly
phononized insanity
validating
vibrational ascendancy-
along the void
and render
all the whatever
patiently
in less than a moment
lest the mind won’t interfere
amid balancing the belly
I half
the remaining
equally
push one lump towards the zenith
another vis-a-vis the right feet
so it finds a correct exit
while especially the
toe tip
beside the small one is affected to be
the immediate target of delete
I shut personal sensations
of ‘I don’t like it’
so that I can dump
with a pure desire
to return to sender
as is required
as much as earth receives
air insists
for its ascending part
an accuracy of might
a simultaneous rush of flow
a cause of cranial vertigo
lasting less than a moment
on the right
quasi ready to squad
the head
but No - I fight not
fighting means slavery at your side
whereas your side exists not
without that foxy fight
hidden under smarty pants just
a mystified puff-gloom intensifies
but gets shot
in one bite
ready to gobble the pretender
which I am not
and flushes oh the so lonely
oh the so broken hearted
transforms to a flatus-cloud
heads up and up
en route the dark
skies full of angry-clouds
oh my brrrrrrgghhhh
even they take it not
hurriedly move aside
an irregularly contoured
eloquent ******  
ethereal space shapes
softly
along the
cotton like subtlety
pliantly tight
so you can pass
while I happily look up
to sing the
Oh Lovey-Dovey
See!
You also have some use
Finally
and Yes!
The sun shines for us
most beautifully
diminishing your blues
through the enchanting
blue of the patchy

As I walked
the usual
dark alley
unhurriedly
I looked through
the living room
of three figures
standing around
a table
under a huge
glassred lamp
discussing something
maybe about the glow
which seemed nothing important
to discuss about
but crucial
to keep them together
implying the warmth made
of their circular bright light

I did not slow down to look further
just rendered quickly
the visible to eyes subtle details
of their well chosen wooden furniture juts and
the color combination fitting well here and there
to complement the tones of the woods as if
things were meant to be useful for them
were in fact secretly placed to color

I will also have a red lamp when I grow up I said suddenly

Just the fool’s remark longing to reserve a
placeless thought in my mind
Placing me in a long forgotten abandoned time
in no time
smiled
and realized
only after they all passed
as  if a ship faded
I remained
within an illusionary mobility  
swept in waves
dizziness like sea-sickness
reminded
through a fresh splash
of tiny airy droplets that
I am already grown up

Were these the call of the stars
I looked up
and left a frozen smile amongst

No I am not intending to own any red lamp very soon
Owning things require an objective responsibility
to build their unleashed memory
to be passed over to nexts
by smells by touches by lives to commemorate  

Stars justified just
They were my ceiling since a while really
of streets that  I live in to dream only
about tales about houses about little things mostly words
then again cannot really rely on or be relied on

Words follow each other and not always can I stop to pen
I immerse and be one of them
that’s then home for me
for a while for a moment
temporary
as is life without a purchasable red lamp
or haven’t I yet found that very roof  
made of all of me’s each fully longed
there is one obviously one
sometime
sometime when time is not questioned
and that’s only when I can make one
maybe yes make one
is an egress
like she always says
draw one
write one
as I do now
or maybe one physical one
that may be the dream of someone
who knows
as long as it grows
to something that can be passed on
full heartedly
with its imperfections
signed by the spirit only
for hearts
may they interpret it as freedom
and yes that’d be something
to travel with
further than the reckoned
counts left from now
39 maybe
if I am lucky
and for that kind of measure
if I am one
now
there still is some 18 counts more to go
till the Red Lamp
would that number also be good enough for growing up
Right?
or was the logic vice versa
hmmm so
obviously there really  is a subject matter of growing up still
the fool was right  in the end
right again in fact
with its flourishing heart
so I can then also stand to see
the you
in the glow of my red lamp
with me
Would that be in the light of eternity?