There are no bad people and there
Are no bad things and the
Music's always playing, always ringing, always singing
Cos the music that surrounds you, penetrates you, lacerates you
Is no different from the substance of your being,
All vibrations merely differentiated unities
You are gliding through that energy field
And consciously! How strange indeed
You're a kaleidoscopic porthole into
All that can ever be
You keep moving through time,
Accidentally rhyming, caught up in the games of the intellect
And introspectively, you can't believe what your
Mind tells you you are
Because you are and you aren't
There's not one true way to know it
If a word could capture what you are,
Then it wouldn't be true
Because the thought and spoken word
Is skewed so distant from the root
But the word is just a path to understanding what the source could be
A way to help the others see
What's going on at the edges of the galaxy

Come with me into voluptuous darkness
And let your eyes and ears dissolve
Until we're just bodies
Standing and swaying in the warm wet breeze that blows up and out from the depths of the cave
Feel your skin unwind and twist with mine

And beside myself
I scrutinize
My actions until I
Am nearly still, nearly silent
Except in the mind
Where I am perturbed, violent
And I can't find you.

I feel your warm skin pressing against me
But you're kissing through me
Loving the space behind me
And I keep turning back to see who it is
And nothingness stares back into me.

At night we were a fresco 
painted by an astronaut, our 
messy bed the chapel of a
voyeuristic God, where glory 
worked with hurried hands
in frenzied fellowship and
hallelujah was a sigh that
quivered on my lips, then we
nodded off like angels of our
own apocalypse; it was made-up
love, when we woke up,
the dreamed up stuff of kids.