Most of the brine has got to boil away
Most of the air has got to choke you
Most of June I spent in jail again
I don't mean jail, exactly
Up in the pine tree
Red squirrel looking down at me

I am losing control of the language again
I am losing control of the language again

Most of the things I used to hold onto
Most of the things I used to say to you
Most of the ways I knew around the local roads
Are disappearing daily
High in the cottonwood
You were looking down at me and you sure looked good
Hair hanging down in the leaves
Your neck tilted back to make a rainbow

I was losing control of the language again
I am losing control of the language again

I want the same medicine force-fed to us to be jammed down your perfectly healthy throat for once

The Shaktic Yonied con-i-cative chronicle
Receptive magical majesty
Why do I insist to refuse the image
Which given to all for a being
I must, I must. but lust for sustenance
Greed gleamed gem, imaginative benefits
Illustrious acceptances held in receptacles
Analogous referrals for smarmy mastication
She: What a Be. The present of this presence
Shaking her out, letting go of these pretense
And obligative fashions
Of latching ons, to momentary ideals
Peeling them down, because permanence is the illusion

The banana tastes better without the Denial
Whittling woodwork
The sawdust agrees
We push, we push forth.. Hesitant to be forceful
Yet sometimes that's the force in it's own manifestation
When's the plan the being, and the being the plan?
Over exhausting contemplative complications
Isn't just a bean plant To eat the seed
And relish in her nourishment
But that want can be that active fault-line
Tectonically rupturing this productive structure
Impatience of the anticipating ambition
Crumbling foundation of her imaged experience

Perception is the adversary of all this malarkey
Projecting the doubt filter on how perceiving this reality
Realization of creation, the constant remembrance to strive
What's the precidence and where's my mind to?

Blind me!   Blind Me!

To forget the exhaustive duty

        Her beauty is so suiting
    Long to fruit.

To be swooned so soothingly

You raised me from my birth,
Even from when I was a toddler
You promised "by you till death"
Before I even know you're a mother.

My teen years are all before you,
You nurtured me well to be strong
To stand for the right cause, any who
Needs your courage and fight along.

But, the story has changed so great,
You stabbed and pulled triggers on me
So also as the love I have turned to hate,
I deserve better O mother, even me.

Heroes of yesterday are on your street
Clothed with the blood of your brutality
You deserve better and not this hit,
When will you wake to this reality?

I have called out often to you
and I have craved your intervention.
Never really sure if you exist at all,
I still sought for your attention.

I searched the faiths a many
and I have tried to understand.
What it was that I must do
to reach out to your open hand.

My faith has wavered greatly
as my time has ambled on.
Yet often did I pray to you,
though at times my faith had gone.

So many times did I reach for you
from the depths of my despair.
Hoping for some magic sign
that you were standing there.

I have looked upon the world and universe,
To see its beauty and its terrors too.
In some unseen and mystifying way,
these things all cry out a testament of you.

I have come to think that we,
are not at the centre of your plan.
Your universe so vast in purpose,
for the tininess of a single man.

Endless chaos and reconstruction,
on a scale that a lifetime can't comprehend.
Recycling endless matter,
on a path seemingly without an end.

Yet you gave me mind and time,
to see this snapshot of the plan.
Giving cause for hope that you can hear,
the prayers of this small man.

The growth of the
tree, stems and
leaves grew up
together, they
breath and dwell
together, between
space and earth
they sing and danced
together, in the night
they fall asleep
together, in the
morning they awake
together, taking
lunch and dinner
together, they
glueing always
together, the
onset, is an old
ages, forces of
cohesion weakened
and the leaves
jaundiced, the stems
just dried up

Go direct to the feeling you want
and you wont get lost in the thoughts you're not feeling
on the way