"concrescence" poems
Oblivious is the man who claims decorum of extrapolated omnipotence.
The man who has ossified rationalism into an inexplorable ruse.
An attempt to transmogrify inchoate minds, characteristic of apparitions.
Providing illusion as the answer to an obsequious concrescence of naive followers.
Oblivious are the men who follow this decorum.
Their leader keens to their needs.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
Kali, make me an implement of your final cruelty and wisdom
Where there is motion, let me slow the vibration
So that your senses might attune to stillness
So that you might destroy my innocence and abolish my existence
May Kali Yuga swallow every form
May the myriad wonders go rushing, gushing thru your fangs
May the birth pangs of tomorrow chase the fortune of today
May the endless hours be abolished in calamity
Teach us to acknowledge the concrescence of our essence
Show us finality of form
Destroy the walls of every home—for we have willed it
Forever in a vacuum
May there be no sound of seasons
May every reason fall to chaos
You have made us in your image
Teach us to recognize
Where there is form, void;
Where there is truth, deception;
Where there is certainty, a cosmic pun;
Where there is reality, hallucination;
Where there is touch, neglect;
Where there is growth, a garden full of ashes;
You of many names: Anima, The Serpent Mother, Blessed Other,
Mind of Nature, Mind of Man, She Who Can, She Who Is, Spider Woman, Tao
Bring us to the edge of the unspeakable now
Disrupt our petty play
Absolve us from decay
Amazing how we’ve come so far
And are still so far apart
Everything is natural
I tell myself
But then
What makes us so strange?
Something here is strange
We seek to make it known
Like a deadbeat injuring himself
On the job
In Tennessee
Subject to
Endless repetition
In the marble quarries
Of old Athens
We copy what is known
Expecting praise
While cities of the night
Reveal an ancient face
The body is the portal
The world is but a riddle
On the stone cells of
A tomb
Golden wax
Breeds life
From the base of a great tree
Where an old woman
Sings in praise of Kali Yuga
Calls the pasture to her hand
And all the humming things
Come forward
Blind & obedient
Like unpolished flesh
The drapery billows w/
No motion
Sends the eyeballs off
In search of internal shadows
Where the Other waits
Where it always has
Where it will be confronted
Where it will be embraced
Where it will be known
Or die to our division
& cover up our genitals forever
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
sense the essence
audibly seen in the butterfly's
shimmering iridescence
flapping its wings
at hummingbird speeds
conducting tones
of concentric rings
emanating matter
& meanings of things
soaring through volumes
of decibel dimensions
embedded in grooves
of mass intentions
measured in tomes
of cultural moves
toward concrete walls
of gaseous oppression
sold in vials to
quell our depression
of what?
our souls don't fit
within their cubes, nor
diamonds, spheres,
pyramids or tubes--
they sink into love
like black holes in time:
with unstoppable force
toward all that's sublime.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 1:56 AM UTC
How many ends in and of themselves
constitute a fill that is yours?
Abreacted claimant...many airs
light at the feet.
I Am with you, I Am you upon this
All-encompassed fold.
Our knees stupefied by weight...
gone weak--gone strong, time and
out of so again.
As a priest walking up the aisle,
censer oscillating the concrescence
of attending souls.
Sniffing for the emblazoned churchyard...
known paces out of doors--the sky
falling down and granting pace no more...
of we, figured in the delving core,
cored out...The Great Scattering.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
that is why us animals
**** like animals
feel like animals
when we **** when we feel
like animals
just the nature
needing to continue
just the nature
being pulled in
a hot attraction
not pleasure but
within pleasure, within
that other animal, simply
****** like an animal
the unobservable
state, something like
the unknown impossible
globe encompassing
the slightly more
known, the slightly more
possible
globes encompassing
globes of
unconscious imagination
radiating
the end of time, inevitably
we are whirling towards
and the beauty
tremulous
tremulous
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC