Introduction
_____

some words
chase you around
infiltrating and winking,
in emails and poems to
your attention dispatched
undeniably messaging
a wanting to be
realized, completed,
teasingly speaking

you know
a poem newly birthing
in your left brain,
tender pleading,
love me already,
just write me
like you would
make love to a woman!"

messages from others employ
the self-same word r e p e a t e d l y,
you start to get the hint
very very v i g o r o u s l y

the rumbling,
the back-seat tumbling,
you're driving
bipedal composing,
guitar and piano
gas and brake
pedals to the mettle,
and the speed limit
was 15 mph under
where your brain is fermenting

all tuning you up to
meet the guild's
product quality standards,
yet unlike an automobile,
a poem, like a life,
has a unique DNA,
cannot just be
recalled,
for repair
and additional tinkering,
jes' because
once it is out there,
it has been outed

sure enough in my
my "started but ***" file,
a lazy layabout,
overlooked and undercooked,
the poem below,
a dabble and a muddle,
so ignored, so berefted
for so long
it got this
special introduction
by way of an apology....

Incarnate**

She is my poem incarnate
She is the carne of my body
She is the innate of my soul
She is my woman incarnate

she is all I need
in form realized and invisible imagined,
angel and thank god,
devil as well...

I incarnate into my unconscious parts: In a destroyed body, the spirit and the soul are resting undisturbed, and shining freely - but whoever loses one part of the conscious and the unconsciously conscious of Being, loses all - and with the flaming breath of the heart and soul immortal - since your lover speaks the true pearls of his mourning on the earth - while his swoon-like Orpheus wanders through the catacombs of the underworld: Never again have his last first encounter!

Will an independent being, like the superior Self, consciously survive if memory is not trapped in Alzheimer's? Only the One, only the Chosen One, born as a handcuffed, love-hungry convict, was born forever trying like Prometheus - could he be happy, perfectly agreed?

Otherwise, if our memory becomes a holey sack, it will become a soulless consciousness - you are nothing and you will be! You are aware of the sense of responsibility, only in the minute, eternal-One, and indestructible, in eternal collision, in the orderly transformation of oneself

is also a solid One. Moments of apathy, little bagels disappear; details, little details


- The rushed Time, like a sponge, as a hermetically sealed state, is timeless floating above me! And what I hardly need is the reason to sift and select! - The One, the One, the Eternal, and the True are hiding somewhere in the depths of the breathing things, lying down and lying low in the sun: You yourself lie down and swim in a non-touching consciousness: Sensual - you know - word and deeds the same way can spur!

The magic bombards this extraterrestrial miracle, shocking its throbbing nerves, and tune the Universe with seduction - The profound depths of Being are shivering unconsciously in every sigh of conscious volcanoes. And immersed in one another, dipped - but not as convicted, orphaned spirits, but as two innocents

gently sinners, relying on conscious forgiveness, while listening to each other's throbbing heartbeats - more and more!