Every second of every day
God speaks life into this world
That greets you in the here and now
If you take the time to listen.

God creates existence from the future
So to give it to your present
But every time you receive it
It has already become the past.

Do not stay with this past
And with its spectral illusion
Try to overtake the future
And be creator of God’s word.

But man cannot countermand
The eternal will of God
As love’s radiant authority
From which all existence flows

Son of man cast off your past!
For your illusion originates there.
The future speaks with resounding truth
That there we must all be born.

The wake my mind endured before you came
Prepared me for a cheerless death alone.
The corpse of rotting love once wild then tame,
Resigned to the earth all flesh save the bone.
Deaf to the sound of lust my world pervades,
I wrote poems of loyalty and love.
Without a muse, my words languished mislaid
On paper and lines scratched helplessly thereof.
Then I to your bed climbed with you to sleep,
And all my poppies transformed to roses
Red for the blood in veins now flowing deep
To a heart that now around you closes.
I’ll never give up what I’ve found in you
Aleks, may our love remain forever new!

Life,  
Through the differentiation
Of its own self-engendering movement,
Veils its own eyes  
to the privilege of its self-experience.
What a joke when
a life full of contemplation
has only to show for its efforts
the understanding that occurs
when the mind is silenced by its own contradictions.
Understanding that
When I see you,
I see me.

Heaven lies in the
Genesis of becoming
The divine present

I can see trees
Unfold with stubborn insistence around the empty field
Where breezes pool in lively airs that dance from sky to ground,
Only to plod into the branches that close them to the stars.  

Lost in the pathways leading nowhere,
The wind forgets from where it came
As branches ****** away its vitality
Dissipated into the quiet weeping of the leaves.

But skimming along the canopy ceiling
Above my head: winds rustle trees,
Enveloping me in the mocking absence
Of the quiet freedom of the open air.

Now wind gently greets me at the edge
Where trees sculpt the field’s subtle form
Which gives the openness its place
And gives pause to a restless mind.  

And now I realize the forest’s trees
Which unfold in their ordered grace,
Allow the freedom of the open to possess
The meaning that I longed to seek.

Atomized,
Anti-socialized,
No one to turn to.  
No one to help you.
In a hypocritical world
We look to him for direction.
We find in him a solution:
Where actions become  
The only form of thought,
There lies the virtue of sacrifice.
No one will deny  
The purity of blood
Selflessly shed for this dream:  

“When these centuries of struggle end,
Paradise will be complete.
Everything is possible.
We can change the world.”

SSSSHHHHHH!! The essssssenccce

Some say the essence
Is a cloud of luminescent gas
Whose color one cannot pin down

Some say the essence
Is ensconced in music
But only the “civilized” type
(like Mozart or Philip Glass)

Some say the essence
Is surrounded by unicorn ponies
Dancing on clouds
Farting rainbows
With hearts

Some say the essence
Doesn’t drink liquor on Sundays
Or any day for that matter
Because the essence is Mormon

I say the essence
Is none of these things
And that those people are all nuts.