And
within moments of pity,
pride, possession, avarice;

and still, moments must resentful,
lustful, arduous, close;

some great current, unmoved
unblunted, unweakened, unswerved,
remains aflow;

for common nearness, a bondless magnetism,  
abounds through within faith-constance,
ever-surmounting that sight or scent
there without.

in the infernal uproar of possibilities when the universe halted an alternative course of movement (to which eternity might be possible in a cosmic place as a confirmation congruent to a derivative of consciousness), there lies an ephemeral mind; at a certain point in time being, who thinks that everything will be plausible in a galaxy of transcendence.

if a particle moves alongside this ephemeral consciousness to which it caused a disturbance, every particle of the latter might be in flux.

[you are that particle]

and if and when, in a conscious state of space and time you sporadically moved and pulled the orbit to which i constantly managed to retain the equilibrium, then should the universe permit us to drift into the internal immobility of togetherness, we became infinitesimal--
but only through the metaphysics of time being.

[at least we had]

(03/09/17)

the flag proudly walks in the wind
with the unjustifiable justice
that it seems to portray
freedom no longer lives
within this symbol for me.

stars and stripes
became criminal power
and death for all
as the flag walks proudly in the wind;
but it does not walk for me.

I thought to take you to old Glory Ridge,
A place among the clouds and void of worries.

We could share an evening with the foliage,
Lying on our backs with our self-deprecating jokes.

Soon, the stars will pierce the daylight,

Just lets in more privacy for our shaky conversation.

Turns to cement when the words start flowing...

God knows what I'll say.

I'll take you to Glory Ridge for more than the view,
The scenic trail lined with countless jesters
And I, their king,
Must admit you're right at home among the natural beauties.

Day after day
Dusk unto dusk
Foolish fool, you make flush
Burst into a blush
Take away my crutch
Let me catch your wave today...
Tomorrow, don't leave me on sorrow and uncertainties
I need to ride that bright white wave eternally

transcendence does not mean surpassing, moving above
transcendence is living through opposite ends of the spectrum simultaneously, or even being it

without experience, here, still there is
without eyes to gaze upon the mystery of coherent light
touchable without a hand
i am born again
again and again and again
until i transcend
into an unlookable expanse
within and without of myself

how do i know?

Have you ever...

Heard a color? Seen a sound?
Smelled a thought, or all around,
Traversed an inward universe,
Where waves of mind abound?

Have you ever...

Climbed upon a ray of light,
Ascending towards the peak, and
Visited a place, of which
Mere words could never speak?

Have you ever,

Felt yourself expanding,
Out into the atmosphere, and
Glimpsed your tiny world below,
While laughing at your fear?

Have you ever...

Stepped outside that little box,
The one that some call "you?" and
Probed the depths, to question
Why you do the things you do?

Well,

...have you?

insanity, begin;

                      PLAY

foam born (A) of the ocean
the backtrack (B)
            to the origin of human emotion
before hue and saturation
    my life may be black and white
but for the next hour
          -  quite frankly -
I don’t give a ****, because
I am a spaceman looking down on you
            no, literally

I am

[above]

you


the decade of statues into which I was born
begged to be forgotten
             left behind
communication with my own kind
             redundant
       boring
meaningless
humanity, mother earth
            nothing worth living for

no one worth dying for
because of the
informal gluttony
            a sickening acceptance
of the inherent claustrophobia of the human condition

I’m floating
            floating
                        floating
further away from you
from any possible natural surrounding
            or human connection
[claiming to be part of humanity always secretly disgusted me]
everything is beautiful from up high
I am a spaceman, a future butterfly.

wait.

something isn’t right
I’m further away
            more detached
than I intended to be
            further away
the safety of my orbit overlooking you
        deconstructing in front of my own eyes
now floating towards the sun of nothing

perhaps I
miscalculated my own superiority
I am the one floating towards eternity
   after all
to an inescapable fate
while you are back home
            with your (our) own kind
perhaps unhappy
but not alone

I am.

watch me pass by
            one last time
I feel my soul breaking apart
my eyes glaze over and
    sha/t/te/r
atmosphere
            burning
mistaken for a shower of stars
            an acceptable way to leave the third
dimension I suppose
perhaps you will see me as the ants of the sky
scattering
            glowing
                        burning
as I find the sun




hello?






am I still alive?




are you still there?




perhaps all I’ve said
            and lived
was nothing more than a prequel to the sequel
life before death?
    or the other way around?
I am no longer confined by four dimensions
      even time is irrelevant
everything is different
            everything is right
bleeding viridian
    feeling the sensation of nothingness
        seeing the sempiternity of the galaxy
hearing translucent shades of the endless chasm
    that now surrounds me


falling


fallin
         g

falli
        ng

fal
      l
        i
          n
             g

f

a

l

l

i

n

g

into the depths
  until I land upon a new horizon

            I am a spaceman
I am discovering everything

I found death
surrounded by white walls
            the greatest journey
of our [lives?]
happens only six feet down
       surrounded by white walls


    this is what we have when we die.
  this is what is left of us.
white walls.


White Walls.

I occasionally become lost in looking, and stagger into a daze for days
though, there’s no one who can count the amount of seconds in a gaze
I share what I cherish through frozen body language
contemplate anguish and propagate patience
to whom it may concern, and to those who swear it doesn’t make sense
my logic has been snatched into the mist of my own fragrance
aromatic boundlessness. strange synesthesia
I smell beauty in proximity
like the aura of Christmas Eve
*this is The Gift of the Ages . . .