The end of the holiday's are near and it's time for me to get back to work. I've been writing and reading and thinking and meditating for years. Preparing the temple, so to speak. My stories are public and private goods and the presentation and profits of these stories must be landed in a good and truthful way ~ I've spent much time and energy on how to do this in a way where I can maintain certain intensities and integrity. Intensity for distillation of truth and integrity for power and resonance.

Stories are just stories but it is the ***** when someone else co-opts your creation and paves over the nuances and complexities of that which you had overtly placed your personal power, thought, and energy into.

You might be reading this and all you are seeing is: *******, *******, *******, *******.  All ******* for as far as the eye can see. Fair enough, I've been thinking the same for years but just when I thought I was out, the ******* keeps pulling me back in. As far as I can see though, **** is the distillation of truth and I hope that I can spin this yarn into a web that you will see the ******* structure that holds up the ******* truth and maybe we can try and digest that and compost it and churn through it then grow a mushroom on top of it and then eat the mushroom so we can attempt to find the spiritual truth of what our ******* structure lies upon. This particular idea is not just some floaty meandering abstraction, it is a truth I saw on the land: Longview, Alberta. And this truth was emodied in the ghost I slept in, nearby in Indian Graves Campground that night.

The land speaks if we let it; if we have prepared our temples, maybe the land speaks truth.

You feel me. If you don't then that's ok. It isn't your time and maybe never will be for this iteration of instinct that I am presenting. My rhymes aren't meant to resonate with everyone all the time. I'm not writing pablum or soul food. Feed your own soul in your own way. That's between you and Mr. Potter and the Chairman. Our truths are our truths and they are absolute.

The reason that I know I am prepared to write this story now is because I have done the work. I have found my inner compass and tested it time and again. While in process and flow, the landscaping shifted and my truth's fell away and the absolute revealed itself one star at a time and isn't it ironic how in tune our bards are with the ... wait for it ... enigmatic.

So where am I going to land this access point to the White Buffalo medication? I am not. The medicine already flows and always has, I just woke up and took what was prescribed because a dude in shorts once told me: abide!

Stay for a while... You said to me...
As you lay draped across me...
Content and at peace intertwined at the feet..

Little did you know...
My mind's miles away,
as you continue to speak..
Where did I just go...
What the **** is wrong with me?
Why can't I kick this?
Why can't I be here and be present for this?...

My heart speaks to me...
But I already know the answer...
And it's always ruining things for me..

My eyes fixate on the flickering candle and I feel nothing as you're holding me...
all I can wish for is to feel again like I did before.

To be ignited in your flames of passion.
To be engulfed in our love...
That first kiss I can't seem to forget...


****!

Without you....
It just doesn't exist...

I am still completely dead inside
and the only way you could possibly understand...
Is if you cut me open..
Only to find a withered heart still beating for another...

I know you're convinced that my heart will weather this storm...
Washing away any love that remained....
That I could someday forget the old and love the new...
That I could maybe someday...
Love you....

maybe I want that too...
Maybe I'll be ready again too..

I'm not a rotten person...
I can promise that part's true..
But I've been left behind you see..
By a man whose love buried me...

You are a flower
That constantly sways in the wind
Petals scattered from shore to shore
While I,
I am a seed
Buried deep within the cold soil
Who hasn't been watered in days
I am the seed who has not yet began to grow
But instead, fades away

I can't remember the last time I looked into the mirror,
And didn't see the vague shell that I am today.
Because today, my body bleeds passion for the uninspired
My skin, shrink wrapped over hollow tree branches
That extend to the beachy shallows of my body
That not even I can see anymore
I am a withering tree who's leaves cannot grow
And roots are dry
I am the stiff wind in January that will burn your cheeks,
I am the only thing that keeps two people apart.
Yet, I will shout from corridors and mountain peaks alike,
I am fine

Until now, it's still hurting me
Even though I started everything again,
At midnight I feel vulnerable from everything
The cold wind sends chills down to my spine
Like how her kisses were before to me when it touches my skin,
But they were warm and her pairs were tender

The feelings come down swiftly
After the knife of the past reality incision my skin
Liquid oozing down the layers of my epidermis
The feeling stings badly and I could not show how painful it is
It seems the feelings are biting down my flesh

A lot of them have been saying desiring is easy
Liking someone new is quick,
Finding someone who will give you much attention's around the corner
Trusting and making relationships isn't difficult to do
But for me lately, everything seems to be made for the fool.

They say, "you got tons of admirers but you dwell on the past for too long.
Why not like one of them and move along?"
It's easy for their words to tell what the other should feel
And what should they do,
I do not get happy by loving someone because they love me first,
I just want to find someone whom I will love and be again my first.

It is a fact that we tend to feel overwhelmed by new one's existence
But it takes too long for me to feel what I felt when I saw her
It is not because she's above all women,
It is because the investments were long and deep
But I will surely get over it,
in all due time.

I wrote you a poem on
our first date
                on tissue paper ..

I'd kept it all these years  
                                 framed
on our bedside table..

When I saw you with another,
               I knew we were over.
So I wiped my **** with it

Putting it on her pillow,
             with new words.
You treated my heart like excrement.

So I've wiped you from my
                                 thoughts.
             My old verse is no more.

All that is left are ******
                                       feelings,
That I wiped away with my first words.