Temple tunics
On antipodal brim
Enfolding in boughs
Lochs of lagoon
No broadcasts
To ruin ourn tune
Ourn tress to clout
No shame nor doubt
Endless labyrinth
North to south
Feeding doves by hand
Grains of tan
Whilst the bairn scowl
For mimes and Lambs
Broods of technology
Tearing down filth
Governmental collapse
Every man's self
In his house!!!

Numbers are the universal language in the mind of humanity

They are the mathematical principle of our inherent tapestry

In nature designs and  heavenly equations

Rotate endlessly beyond our considerations

Why then do we conjecture about the logic of its proposition

That life is eternal with such antipodal opposition ?



In a universe of distinct and geometric symmetry

Where the laws of movement are governed by natural tyranny

The musical mastery in the octave of a tonal interval

Where two frequencies having a ratio of 2 to 1 are integral

Why then does the meandering minstrel of philosophical bent

Guide us through this hypothesis with an aim to circumvent ?



Has a miscast chord aimed from above the celestial sphere

Forced us to reevaluate the reason  we are here

Is it some kind of mistune played on our minds

Focusing on the ancient  written designs

Whose words we ponder with urgent solicitude

Speculating the proof which nurtures disquietude ?



All of life resonates the death of its image and likeness of its being

Is a ritual to the perfect harmony of its continual foreseeing

Like a harp from the heavens of an unknown destiny

Playing the tune of mystery mirrors the pain of history

With the force needed to make that leap in time

To take us into the higher octave into another paradigm.

i travel the lexicon of bulbs
and petals and visible light
backward and forward
like a monorail of time.
the conductor is naked exposure,
an amorphous functioning of human body l
only peripherally perceptible
so that it mostly looks like a humanoid, octopus-mantis chimera.

i am the hand, prophetic and terrible.
i am the party, bacchanalic.

touching rare earth minerals
with a vibrantly common approach
i am the poverty of self and other.

take me far from linear modalities
to the temple altar
of concentric, overlapping,
principled
cause and effect.
superposition
my 80something years
so that action/reaction
have no independence.
i want to remember the future and speculate on the past.
i want the present to be the contour
that shines like antipodal moss
between their confused directions.

i am the long androidal night.

No one crossed that threshold in quite a while
Doors weren’t knocked twice in light
“ Rain” , impishly she said when saw me surprised

The only knock my ears were aware were of my ration’s load
Her galoshes confirmed the miry road
The muddy lane to my forgotten abode

I asked her if she was mistaken
Emptiness in my voice left her soul shaken
Rambler, she travelled the roads that were not taken

Brown her braids, drops from the rain they confined
One fell on dusty floors, contrasting the view it traced a line
Disparity of salt void on the floor but abundant on the cheeks of mine

Glanced my old house with her eyes, she broke the perfect stillness of her face
In her new world I seemed to loose my pace, she asks me “ What is this place?”
“Dream”, I told her, “ Of solitude and life without race”

It wasn’t only her visit that looked strange
Antipodal of my dreams, hers were of different range
She travelled because she was happy only when the scenes changed

Odd but the solitude seeker me liked her company, she unthreaded me with questions until there was no light
Stars shined, shinier the moon, shiniest her eyes in the night
She asked to stay over. “Rain”,  impishly she said when saw me surprised.