#tabernacle - Hello Poetry

demon in the bathroom mirror last rock of crystal went missing bulging eyes in my reflection I didn’t like that i couldn’t find crystal but i don’t ask those guys actually saved my life. two hours to billings, montana and the prairie grass glistened in the last minute Sunday morning sunlight thanksgiving day drive. designer machete and the wineberries broken shabbat demarcation line and i tried yet again to perform a task to completion without getting distracted screaming from the bathroom ‘i can’t hit a vein! I can’t hit a vein!’ water in the rig miss crystal swimming in mine Christ in the Cosmos two plantains on the kitchen island in a town house on west orange. no man is an island but I pretended that i was so i could finally climb the double helix home. i can’t be creative if i’m always in a mad rush. ‘Prove to me your value! Justify your being here, can you see me? Why can’t anyone see me? how about now?’ tongue caught in a snare pestilence in the mason jar smoked paprika in the finish water in the rig ‘Jordan? Was there even anything in here?’ i used to lay prostrate on the couch ad infinitum. one thing they don’t tell you is that when you’re dope sick you have to take a giant **** about every five minutes. the free cable in the apartment complex actually saved my life. furniture - mid century modern - had to let it go. hadn’t really listened to music in 18 months besides pop country radio stations ‘i got that summertime, summertime sadness’ ad infinitum. somehow I had decent pair of headphones and a small, black verizon smartphone circa July 2013. ‘do what you want, what you want with my body…’ Lady Gaga actually saved my life that day. demon in the ikea medicine cabinet mirror giant rock of crystal missing water in the rig ‘was there even anything in there?!?!?!’ the mirror reflected back to me a stranger’s eyes mirror is another name for a stranger's eyes. i tabernacled in the high desert plains, Sheridan, Wyoming - powder river country. i felt the God-force emerge yesterday up and outward from deep within my belly. but today i’m fussing over straw-men in plaster-of-paris suits and i ate tortured beef at a diner in Leesport, PA and I can’t turn back into the man I was no matter how hard I try. so now I sit before the most holy apostle St. Jude located at Our Lady of Fatima Grotto across the street from Kings College, Wilkes-Barre, PA. ‘The quickest way to Hell are the temptations of the flesh, exclamation point.’ i came here to reclaim my value but i can’t seem to find it anywhere. i keep getting flashbacks of the water in the rig and the screaming from the bathroom and if i didn’t tell somebody about this i was probably going to ***** 3 cheers for the Black Madonna and the big surrender. i’ve swallowed so many shadows by now that i don’t recognize myself in the mirror or in your eyes. but my body is a christmas tree and from the branches i hang plastic tinsel and crystals and broken timing chains and a cedar wood mala. I see that Christ is always pointing to his sacred heart but no one ever told me that the anahata chakra had a back door. no wonder sometimes I feel like i’m a hydrogen bomb welded inside a lead casket. someone open the ******* door and let some light in. the sun doesn’t rise from the west and there is no rest for the weary and to this day I act like that wasn’t only water in the rig.

0

Jul 12, 2021

Jul 12, 2021 at 1:39 PM UTC

LonesomeDub

water in the rig

demon in the bathroom mirror last rock of crystal went missing bulging eyes in my reflection I didn’t like that i couldn’t find crystal but i don’t ask those guys actually saved my life. two hours to billings, montana and the prairie grass glistened in the last minute Sunday morning sunlight thanksgiving day drive. designer machete and the wineberries broken shabbat demarcation line and i tried yet again to perform a task to completion without getting distracted screaming from the bathroom ‘i can’t hit a vein! I can’t hit a vein!’ water in the rig miss crystal swimming in mine Christ in the Cosmos two plantains on the kitchen island in a town house on west orange. no man is an island but I pretended that i was so i could finally climb the double helix home. i can’t be creative if i’m always in a mad rush. ‘Prove to me your value! Justify your being here, can you see me? Why can’t anyone see me? how about now?’ tongue caught in a snare pestilence in the mason jar smoked paprika in the finish water in the rig ‘Jordan? Was there even anything in here?’ i used to lay prostrate on the couch ad infinitum. one thing they don’t tell you is that when you’re dope sick you have to take a giant **** about every five minutes. the free cable in the apartment complex actually saved my life. furniture - mid century modern - had to let it go. hadn’t really listened to music in 18 months besides pop country radio stations ‘i got that summertime, summertime sadness’ ad infinitum. somehow I had decent pair of headphones and a small, black verizon smartphone circa July 2013. ‘do what you want, what you want with my body…’ Lady Gaga actually saved my life that day. demon in the ikea medicine cabinet mirror giant rock of crystal missing water in the rig ‘was there even anything in there?!?!?!’ the mirror reflected back to me a stranger’s eyes mirror is another name for a stranger's eyes. i tabernacled in the high desert plains, Sheridan, Wyoming - powder river country. i felt the God-force emerge yesterday up and outward from deep within my belly. but today i’m fussing over straw-men in plaster-of-paris suits and i ate tortured beef at a diner in Leesport, PA and I can’t turn back into the man I was no matter how hard I try. so now I sit before the most holy apostle St. Jude located at Our Lady of Fatima Grotto across the street from Kings College, Wilkes-Barre, PA. ‘The quickest way to Hell are the temptations of the flesh, exclamation point.’ i came here to reclaim my value but i can’t seem to find it anywhere. i keep getting flashbacks of the water in the rig and the screaming from the bathroom and if i didn’t tell somebody about this i was probably going to ***** 3 cheers for the Black Madonna and the big surrender. i’ve swallowed so many shadows by now that i don’t recognize myself in the mirror or in your eyes. but my body is a christmas tree and from the branches i hang plastic tinsel and crystals and broken timing chains and a cedar wood mala. I see that Christ is always pointing to his sacred heart but no one ever told me that the anahata chakra had a back door. no wonder sometimes I feel like i’m a hydrogen bomb welded inside a lead casket. someone open the ******* door and let some light in. the sun doesn’t rise from the west and there is no rest for the weary and to this day I act like that wasn’t only water in the rig.

103

You always transcend my sadness with your hypnotic stillness, your entrancing symphonies. My thoughts go back to the banks of Langat*, where one day a little boy sat alone, just only five, bewildered, in a canoe. From the sea, from the streams, from the rain, you chanted a calming mantra to soothe him, calling him to dissolve in your awe-inspiring presence. Your aquamarine sheen paints the intricacies of all that I'm. In the cool blue depth of your stillness, I long to create the tabernacle of my being. Never I thought your melodies could become the war cry of a devilish psyche! Today I'm perplexed, when I hear the anguished human cries from the twirls of your turbid anger. I realise you’ve become an enigma that pulls me to the depths of a crazy conundrum. How many more shades of anger you hide in the burning red heart of the mantra you chant to give me a heavenly bliss, Oh Water?

0

Sep 18, 2018

Sep 18, 2018 at 4:41 AM UTC

the-mystique-trail

A deluge that confounds me

You always transcend my sadness with your hypnotic stillness, your entrancing symphonies. My thoughts go back to the banks of Langat*, where one day a little boy sat alone, just only five, bewildered, in a canoe. From the sea, from the streams, from the rain, you chanted a calming mantra to soothe him, calling him to dissolve in your awe-inspiring presence. Your aquamarine sheen paints the intricacies of all that I'm. In the cool blue depth of your stillness, I long to create the tabernacle of my being. Never I thought your melodies could become the war cry of a devilish psyche! Today I'm perplexed, when I hear the anguished human cries from the twirls of your turbid anger. I realise you’ve become an enigma that pulls me to the depths of a crazy conundrum. How many more shades of anger you hide in the burning red heart of the mantra you chant to give me a heavenly bliss, Oh Water?

30

Behold the dreadful Horns of Red The Beasts who trample o’er the dead Who roar and gore and raise their heads In challenge to the One who bled – The One who willfully was pierced Whose will is strong, whose love is fierce Who crushes Altars men revere That they may see through their veneer .

0

May 24, 2020

May 24, 2020 at 7:24 PM UTC

DylanMcFadden

Unveiled, Part 2: The Horn-Crusher

Behold the dreadful Horns of Red The Beasts who trample o’er the dead Who roar and gore and raise their heads In challenge to the One who bled – The One who willfully was pierced Whose will is strong, whose love is fierce Who crushes Altars men revere That they may see through their veneer .

9