An illusion had sprung out of a well
And from the very same we all quench our thirst
In years it has already made many dwell
And I, in chasing this illusion, will not have been the first

It was blinding in all the light I didn't see
Until I learned how misfortune had treated me right
That illusion had been cloaked by invisibility
And vanished when I returned to sight

I am one, a particulate suspended
in an infinite collection of
breathing stardust
alone standing on
earthly surfaces.

And you are the life I began
to understand in the poetry of
your words that I long to
**** in and inhale for the rest
of this illusionistic superficial reality.

Sometimes poverty unites not nations
but merely two people//
Intoxicants when overused break families as waves break on the shore//
Their drug now becomes their love//
And you are equivalent to nothing in their perceived reality//
It either makes the users surrounding guests mature profound strong souls
As strong as the Pedi army stood against the British and Boer to protect their land//
Or it causes them to transfer to their own twisted but illusionistic universe where all they see is darkness and despondency//

And then one day//
The money begins to run out
and so do the people//
But rarely, oh so rarely some humans make the decision to stay and continue the journey//
Where the road may potentially split into two//
recovery or relapse//

Sometimes poverty unites not nations
but merely two people//

The money has begun to exhale into the earths atmosphere
just as a stoner exhales his poisonous vapour into our airspace//
Some stay behind to help the corrupt mortal//

No money equals no substances//
No ******* or cat or cannabis or crack or codeine//
No drugs//

Then//

Two beings begin to ignite each other's fires
they learn the things they didn't know for the what felt like a million and seventy years//
They begin to discover how the one mispronounces words
and how certain songs cause ones soul to sway as the bass drops
or how ones hair whirls as the wind rushes through it
or how he can see the depths of the her soul through the eyes
and when she stares at the moon
her beauty is illuminated by the magical glow//

And then one day//
The money starts returning//
Creepily and discretely
the evil money
the tragedious money//
Like an evil monster emerging from hell
Where its dark and *****//

The money blows out the fire they have ignited
and slowly lures the user back//
The bond is now broken//

Sometimes poverty unites not nations
but merely two people//

Once, when forever was merchantmen
And time sold in bottles,
Once, when the nocturnal Almighty
Opened the skies to eyes of stars,
I had wings that existed wholely
Like two sides of an ethereality
With the miracle of an illusionistic existence.
       Wings which sang unto open blue
Skies with all the light of a star,
Wings flashing like a storm lightning
And the caress of the moist rain at my
Feathers, the calm of the night.
     I was an angel right?
Once with glory and rhythm
And all the harmony of ineffably
Clear minded hope, did you not pray
Upon the dazzlingly Divine,
Like mercy in flight over the
Sprawling desolation?

Yes, yes I have taken the fall,
The ravenously singular fall
For the lust of a woman and twisting
The Heavens, but I have awaoken suns,
Flown with meteors and shedding
The brilliance of light in the dark,
Even the fullness of the Cosmos
I have known since before when
I danced with constellations and evoked
The deeper lyrical prayers
Of madmen!

One day,
I will lay upon the exhausted earth,
Fall asleep upon the deep soil,
I will dream infinite things once
Again, and I am still in love with you.

Differentiation limits phone time credits,
Toned line Pennant's!!

Conversation's with god are slight different to thy normal ear,
Intercedence of masculine loving tears!!!!

Purveyor's forevermore drape over thine own places,
Thy present realities thy past,
Yet put on with children's face's!!!

Still you were bred to illusionistic supplications,
Wherein the engaged stay the same!!

No changing shall appear!!!!

Feeling is an illusionistic place
You convince yourself with things that aren’t in place
It can **** you or boost you to a higher place
It is difficult to describe what feeling is in place
Some times you might develop them in the wrong time or place
You might feel happy for no reason in place
Or you might feel sad and it fits correctly into place
There are feeling that are even beyond time and place
If you want to know how it feels to be emotionless then maybe death is your place
Life without feelings is a tasteless place

In the aisle air lies the smell of honesty from filthy hands
Along lurks deceit in subtle stance
One evolved from hardly reaped beans
The other is sprayed by gloves in billious-green

And so they dance around the weary noses
Eager and revulsion awaited to be ****** in
One's scared of exposure
The other of sin

An illusionistic pas de deux
The people overly drained to grasp
And they never will

Or will they?
I will be waiting for the epiphany
Until the birds cease to fly

I walk down the empty sidewalk, south towards the city light.  
Golden ice glass covers twigs and still born buds like a hypothermic glaze
Claustrophobic and sterile, preserved sacred artifacts
Your clothes crucify against me like hot water we showered under, unfiltered winter sun; learning what peace is.
She’s on the phone, paper cut thighs.  We slept in the same bed last night, warming the sheets.  I keep you close so you don’t have to.
Tattoos of bookmarks, her quiet voice gravitating the landscape like starlight silken water; keeps the planets pinned in place behind dust collected charcoal sky.
Rhythmical beauty of cluttered strange songlike beauty,
Luminescent trees bow to the collage of rippling temperate light
Wearing my clothes and memories like the stories that saturate the senses
Monuments of scraps on display,
Crepitating stiff fabric frosts over on the surface,
My voice permeates the stitches
Like the mild toxicity of long-lost lovers.
Sedated neutral placidity, a rare syzygy

Blackout night blackout poetry, streetlight washed porcelain
Scrubs clean the severity of tenebrous light and shadow
Tender rain delicately succumbs to snow
Absent cold universe of separation
Melts upon collision with wet stone
These fallen angels rest peacefully now in the empty dark
Adumbral and indistinct, illusionistic tame dreams
Have mercy... for I’ve just begun to learn to dress for the weather.  

So --- I’ll blow on your tea while its too hot --- the warmth spreading from my fingertips --- to yours.  Green leaves, translucent gems bobbing in jade water.  Make you warm breakfast in the morning, your half-sleep cuddling into my side, reaching through layers of warm blankets.
--- I had begun to forget my walk last night.

Classical tradition, as recorded
in Herodotus,  describes the
"Return of the Heracleidae"
Ἐπιστροφὴ τῶν Ἡρακλειδῶν,
the descendants of Heracles,
who were exiled at his death
& returned in later generations
to reclaim the dominion that
Heracles had held in the Peloponnesus;
The Greece to which the tradition
refers is the mythic one,         now
considered to be    Mycenaean Greece;
The details differ from one ancient
author to another, the commonality
being that a traditional ruling clan
traced its legitimacy to the hero Heracles;
One of the best-known modern studies of mimesis,
understood as a form of realism in literature,
is Erich Auerbach's Mimesis:  The Representation
of Reality in Western Literature, which opens
w/ a famous comparison between the way
the world is represented in Homer's Odyssey
& the way it appears in the Bible;
                                  From these two seminal
Western texts, Auerbach builds the foundation
        for a unified theory of representation that
spans the entire history of Western literature,
including the Modernist novels being written
at the time Auerbach began his study.
                                       In art history,
"mimesis", "realism" & "naturalism" are used,
often interchangeably,    as terms for accurate,
even "illusionistic",     representations of the world