The essence of the soul sparkles over into lightjoyfully cupping all that she has to offerever so light the truth upholds the spiritsoothe me gently, ease me into the nightoh that i should fly and soar through the breezesavor each word, with pure delighteach ones message would be heaven senti would gladly raise my heart on bended kneeslightness of heart is the greatest gifti would covet thee in each momentkiss me gently, as i treasure our embraceand for this moment in time my voice i now liftby Deeanne **

The first step is admitting you own nothing.
You have borrowed a vessel of perpetual motion,
transforming matter into joy. Or sorrow.
You prepare a lament for
every object being shrunk in volume  
to the point of liquefied singularity.
Your soul resembles a berseked monach
harpuned by the overflowing thoughts
of a whole world outside his sacred temple,
rediscovering GOD through a moment of NO BIG TRUTH.
Every item is handelled with utmost care.
Every hour of every day carefully measured,
overligned, overlived, predicted,
enjoyed to the highest crest of pleasures.
The excitement turns you into a dormant rage
of two incandescent lovers, sharing their last kiss.
A particular moving object (which borrows your empirical mass)
runs away over roads and tracks and clouds and temples,
from the decay measured in seconds of standstill, if at all present.
You left the last version of yourself at the doorstep.
The footsteps on the street are an echo of
your forthcoming change. Your exhaltation.
How am I supposed to fight this disposition,
the everpresent catarsys in each corner of the soul,
as the end is postpond by the black guitar’s lament
in the indigenous version of history.
Sometimes things overlap without obvious reasons.
Sometimes the foundations of our sorrow -
buried deep into everday house hold objects,
is the only threat which holds the secret
to the way back.
To the memories bookmarked in your going-away-ness.
To the saved points in your story
(to which you could return back in case of a disaster).
Like a tale, in which the bad prevails,
but
as she lays in your arms,
in a particularly ephemeral moment
all that matters in the end
is the desired absence of space
‘tween the most lonely abbrevations of
the two of you.

If I was Johnny handsome Android you'd soon avoid this thing that replicates the hates and feeds upon the oily fears of those not quite his metal peers
and shearing through the drift and dross on wheels 'cause legs are no dead loss
to look upon the nuts and bolts excretia of the fools and dolts who engineered with sneers on faces Androids bound in metal cases and then in utter exhaltation crowned the kings of every nation.

A super sheen metallic gleam shines out from eyes that see in ratios and Pi's and rises high above the humdrum lives where hand in glove they slave away to build Androids at ten a day for little pay and even less to say.

This is the void where we will end as we rush to tinker and to tend to the revolution of Android evolution.

He speaks with words
that exude
some sort of
false
exhaltation
Pretend adoration
for
all the years of
us.
No longer
can I trust
as I feel blindly
in the
emotional dark
I find myself
dwelling in.

Incantation! Magical phrases, singing praises. Bring forth spirits of the conscious universe.

Infused, embodied within the words the power grows, until a breathless exhaltation gives form to energy pure and vital.

Repetition. An affirmation coalescing amid synaptic transmission. Neural pathways open, provide a conduit between the ethereal and the physical.

Coursing through the enlightened mind, emanating radiating. Life body and soul.

I bring the cosmic gift of creativity, and , with divine inspiration I write.....

Conjure textures, ellicit emotions,  provoke thought. The amalgamation of the collective unconscious. I am the wordsmith of a thousand ages.

remember me please within time as these melting cow doth we squeeze
see me in ports desire taking gun for hire coming down to the wire
baby years ago let the truth be told people can be so cold
limitation onto exhaltation set the meter to forward
pause before the pleasant I just you & I...

happiness begins with a such as time as these
break loose the Torringtons'  am to please
bridge a gap beside the country side
leaking oil across its chemistry
smooth...slight of a hand to please
bargain basement deal

heightened with occupation
the toasted ivy thwart its heavenly bust side
hey penny....
one penny,
Tre- penny

I am not myself these days
for who I am I might be you
there's more then to of us inside my mind
from scene to scene....