My perspective is skewed
They say home follows the heart
What of the city? It has my blood
Asphalt black bedsheets call
To me, sweetly whispering
"You're beautiful, number without a name."
God, do you know my name?

The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious ( revised, revised, revised)

How to say this briefly:
Firstly,
Words that help convey the hidden.
They exist.
Here is the gist:
Churches, sects, cults, creeds, the claim
Of being chosen.
Tenets frozen,
Woven into scripture
Which professes knowing
What is best for all,
Where if you’re good you rise
And if you’re bad you fall.

Spirit's -ality puts stress on union,
The approach to life
Emphases
On oneness under all beliefs;
On peace and joy and getting these;
Transcendence over time and space
A sense of being face to face
With truths about reality, its indescribability -
Yet not impossible to give a voice to.

Fear that goes,
Love that grows.
Agape’s universal call,
Connecting to an All in all.

Practices to help along:
Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song,
Means to fit all shapes and sizes,
Geniuses as well as dunces,
Non-, theistic preferences
Which need to be demystified.

Not magic, pagan, or god-based,
Theo-physical, but meta-: deeply meaningful,
And mystical, the core of all.

The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017
To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin

I've been in love
(or thought I was)
twice now
and I'm only
twenty years old.

I've spent my entire life
practicing the art
of letting go
and I lost track of
my losses
because I've never
been good with
numbers.

I have
added,
subtracted,
divided
and solved
my way back
to you

countless of times

and this is how
I know I am

no good at math.

It haunts me,
The presence of her absence
her voice, only exists in one place
and that place, is my mind,
a place of noise
Her smile, engraved in my mind
she cannot speak anymore,
for she has a tongue, but no voice
she cannot show herself
for she has a body, but no life
she is not here anymore
but her soul lingers on
the crusts of this home
and on the crusts of my heart

- Kaya

the cracking concrete stairway practically reeks darkness
this is the entrance to the labyrinth.
step by step constantly downward until the sliver of sun that you always thought would be visible has finally disappeared
and left nothing but the blinking of the dim artificial light broken by time.
the warmth you surely felt outside has been leeched away
leaving a constant chill to raise the hairs on your arms
every time the ghost of a subway train emerges from the depths of the tunnels to all sides.
crude steel and fissured tiles paint the portrait of the lives that have passed through here
the tracks making no distinction between foreigner and local as they dole out their fates.
and every rushing train blurring the shadowy lights of the tunnel
reaffirms your suspicion that this is a vessel through a vortex in disguise as a breaking down train.
and as the doors slide open once the wheels lock and screech in agony until the momentum is stopped,
take caution
for the city you exited from into the subway
may not be the same you’ll enter here.