raindrops bounce on
the window frame,
reminding me we're
in this room together.

your words are raindrops
playing on my metal frame -
nowness splatters
into existence  -
you remind me that
someday we won't be
in this room together.

you repeat endlessly
between my ears -
I sing along to my favorite song -
I want to tell you
all the lyrics
but my words fall
like raindrops.

unspoken are my
tear-shaped raindrops -
their tremors taunt me
on this side of the pane -
you remind me that
we were always
in the wrong
alternate universe.

the raindrops refract
your light,
dissolving a warm glow
into the evening fog,
you remind me that you're gone.

maybe the rain stopped,
but the silence is only
the absence of your voice,
the rest is just noise.

I think of our raindrops now -
smiling -
knowing that you have an umbrella.

the story went as though
she'd always known the sea
and trusted in its depth
to mellow any ill, caress her
open lovingkind as in a dream.
and dream she would upon the waves,
having settled into floating reverie.
she'd close her eyes and inhale being
there among herself caressing only
ocean, only breath, all sunlit space
to draw her earthly trials gently out.
softened beachside noise would fade
and let alone her ears to hear
the water oneness dipping clear
and deeper in the troughs, for distance
from the stranded holidays,
the beachy noise of seaside frills
and bear her boyancy to rest
in lilting motion, peaceful cresting sleep
atop an intercontinental,
earthsize water bed.
her trust profoundly spanned
the trans-atlantic rift
and any rift to set apart her undulating
ancient ocean mastery. moon
and sun were kneading vastly where
her snores were lost in starfish whispers balancing
the tidal volume set
to always fill and keep afloat,
or otherwise to wake in
sputters and a salty throat.
her body settles into swinging comfort
napping over waves so deep the shore recedes...
... what bright, kind, clarity cascaded in your dreams?
what heart you had, embracing open quiddity,
never sinking nowness breath alert in lucid sleep
and water surface mystic skyward shallow course?
to merfolk gazing up in wonderment
you limply crossed their bouncing sky,
just another flight of fancy in a world of mystery?
did you dream you were a whalesong
sphering out to carry sadness sonorously? did you
school the many impulse-thoughts to clump and flee
the jaws of time? did you bask in light
and find a shining womb of self
to nurture once again and labor out anew?
did gravity make sense to you?
i float sometimes and live that question true.
sleeping far you drifted out and out and in and out of view
and whistles drowned in gathered drama fear
'my grandma! my grandma!'
screamed my cousin at the lifeguard
sweating ******* and leaping over stroke to spash
into your side a breathless shouting mess for you to calm
and ask 'what's wrong?' and angle slowly back to shore
in fits of giggles, bubble laughter at commotion's reach.
they blink in crowds, standing herdlike on the beach.

and now you swim your last,
another summer day.
like any other i awoke
and fed you eggs, so soft
     (at first it wrinkled my nose),
but taste is strange, and slimy works
just fine sometimes,
like in the absence of teeth.
she never liked her dentures,
     (she said she couldn't taste her food)
and gummed her frozen dinner meals with a smile,
like it was the greatest thing in the world.
     (in fact she'd often say, 'that was the best meal i had ever had',
     and with a force that made me happy to suspend my doubt)
and who am i, judging
that which you select? your pills,
your diapers and your vote,
your shows, your nursery rhymes,
your crown manipulation,
your age?
i use abjection well,
as something not unlike a whetstone for denial.
performing daily rituals i abhor
i retrain and edit, revising social eyes:
dilapidated fictions, safer norms
and mores tailored to a loan
with interest from the self.

she didn't call herself a 'nudist,'
though she lived beyond the fence
living **** for decades saying
'i'll never leave, i love my home.'
we played dominoes 'til noon
'another kind of indoor game, one on a side'
her interpretation of my being there
changed soon, like my aversion
for the liquid yoke she buttered with a spoon.
our neighbors loved her and i,
and to meander down our path,
lay their towels and sit
like all there was to do was visit.
lunched,
she hobbles from her plants back to the sink,
and filling the cat dish, stands
century-old arms akimbo
in the doorway, with a sigh to wake the sun.
being of caretaking was never so fun.
holding hands i help her over roots,
around the rocky sections, through
the easy path and level now
she hobbles sure, the cane a decoration
for her pride at being old and young
at heart and quick at stories overtold
in grooves to satisfy the sense of time.
greetings shower us with beaming smiles,
inching to the sandy edge. denuding,
joining everyone, we stand engulfed
in air. modern digambar to don
a vaster cloth of letting be.
skinny dipping grandma, and me.
the water slips around
her fraglile skin, human driftwood
knotted with a smile.
a grand mother slipping through akashic cracks
to undiscover friends their seeing core.
they wonder at the shore
of hoary plight
and wonder on, once we're gone.

Elegant you are
so precious

a twist of wings

so gracious
—in this nowness

a green screen,
the imaged voice
in my head.

all is
but
what it is.

and when
spring comes,
wounded trees
bear a blossom
in their own blood.

I.
in his dreams he saw her
in his dreams he wove a tapestry of hope
a phantasmagoria of love's plenitude
but that was only in his dreams

II.
when Fall came
he figured
a deciduous alternative
to pining for the impossible
and succumbed slightly
to the mad sensation
of his fervent passion

instead of leaves
he shed
tears

III.
one day
sunlight streamed down
and he found himself bathed
in warmth
suddenly alive with energy
suddenly vital
suddenly
at long last

himself.

IV.
yes it was penumbra
outside  just outside
but within his citadel
his castle a light shone
pure
impervious
elegant
such light as arrives after
a great storm

he thought
the storm had lasted
sixty years
or more

V.

it was hard to define
infinity as a daily companion
but there it was again
sitting on the sofa
staring him down
from its perspective of ever

he had
he thought
to change
into something else
something else
something else

again

a circle mudra

no beginning
no end

infinity at his

fingertips


VI.

in his dream
he was at the shore
of the Prospect Park Lake

dogs were loose and running on the shore

suddenly the dogs began to run into the thin ice of the lake
crash through
start swimming

he saw a couple of german shepherds
three golden doodles
one of whom was his new dog Lola

he watched them swim out
then begin to return by diving
and reappearing closer and closer to the shore

he kept on looking for Lola
but he did not see her

increasingly agitated he asked
where is my dog
repeatedly

then he was in an ambulance
because he had had a stroke

as the ambulance backed up
he saw a golden doodle on his or her back
surely dead

he asked the driver
is that my dog

and the driver did not answer

infinity again appeared
unassuming
and near

VII
in-fin-ity
he pronounced
savory syllables
in inside or of
belonging to
fin end terminus
limit
ity in-the-year
quality of
right-nowness
images without
concrete impact
because after all,
he could only hope
to understand
a vestige
as it appeared
between
the moments when
he looked at his watch


VIII.
his most concrete recall
of infinity manifested
here and now
was:
his older son (at four years old)
had just heard a description of the cosmos
astronomy being one of his (father) interests
as he (father) looked at the sky
in moments of wonder in his (father) life
and what may or not come after
so when it was time for him (son)
to be taken to school in the old VW bug
he (son) sat with a distant look in his(son) eyes
while he (father) tried to start the engine
and suddenly he(son) burst
out crying and he(father) concerned
startled said what's the matter
and he(son) said whimpering
despairing at the immensity of it all

infinity!


IX

he was four years old
on a trip with his father
they stopped at a hill
near railroad tracks
a train came by
the engineer waved
he said "he waved at me"
his father said "no, he waved at me"
then started to climb the hill
he followed
they came to what he thought
was the summit
and he asked when does it end
his father said
this climb is infinite

so they both turned back
you can't start on infinity too soon.

X.

he found a map
city of ny 1930
complete with subways
ferries and the like
he stared at it
for a long time
checking out
so many familiar names
so many half remembered sites
suddenly come alive
from so many years ago
and realized
it could have been yesterday

and maybe it was.

XI.

standing at the very top of Vargas Street
in Quito, he yelled her name,
called her as one calls for a miracle

true to form

nothing happened
except
the street
and his life
spread out before him
and he knew not why

XII

he dreamed three signs:
life
death
infinity

and they were all one and the same

XIII

in the airplane
flying high above
destitute crowds
teeming multitudes
lost continents of grief
he thought he glimpsed
a truth so vast
it stunned him
as he sat
watching
fluffy clouds
reach out

then it was time to land
and he forgot about it.

XIV.

infinity,
companion supreme
and inexpressible
fount
foundation
and relief
of all we are

within thy
subtle
concatenations
(subsuming all
in patient minutes
that escape uncounted)
gather this thy humble
servant
in your mantle of hours
and grant
by thy unknowable presence
that I too
your meaning

(extant
in a universe so vast
only the most minimalist structures
understand)

be revealed

ah, this coffee tastes great!

Thanks!

Hops and topsy-turvy jumps ― blurred movement
muddles across  the dewy meadow floor,
as though dawn brushes away the sandman’s magic
from the corner of sleepy eyes,
                                  to cast an enchanting spell
    A sudden hazy yet abrupt stop…
    hastily,  halting ,   frozen motionless

Stillness, as if some final destination has been reached…
  
Neck stretched and craning,
tilted with an eye to mother earth ;
a canted focus beyond interruption
   In the blink of an eye,
   with a vigor too rapid to capture,
   as the nowness of urgency flashes ― 
 
   She stretches the earthworm
   with the grasp of subsistence
knowing after fall   becomes the long winterlude.

The morning sun illuminates the glow of the native Maple’s
glorious fiery orange and yellow color palette  
A steady stream of animation rushes in and out
   of the giant tree’s golden splendor

Abundance perishes with the seasonal gardens decay.
Mornings of blueberry and strawberry feasts
have left the red breasted robbers foraging
for the last rotting apples the deer have left behind.

   Harbingers of spring…
  
   Blueberry sneakers…
  
   Gleaners of fall and winter..

“Teeek”  “tuk” “tuk” “Tseep”....
        fills the overhead air
   with a beautifully chaotic verve

The flock returns repeatedly     to and fro     the towering Maple
to the ripened cornucopia of scarlet berry clusters of the Mountain Ash

The Robin’s flock ravage and gorge on the plentiful delights
Soon the crimson berries fuel of flight will disappear
   as if it were only an unspoken allusion
          of the passing seasons

The pearl gray sky is an ominous backdrop
          for the fickle fleeting migrants
Daylight fades as the flock disappears
          into a break                in the clouds
fleeting unto the ominous pending winter sky…

In the blink of an eye ... life’s  senescent seasons
transform the stormy whirling winds of change
bearing the golden Autumn leave’s splendor
   across the rolling vista
like a higgledy-piggledy murmuration
   of a migrating beautiful mess

The naked rooted scaffold’s branches stretch
across the sprawling tapestry of the wooded sanctuary.
Winter flocks of Thrush and Robins,
    arrive on a frosty new dawn
Red breast feathers puff with the morning sun’s rays,
warming the tree tops leaning toward the southern sky;
   Their journey here and now,
from distant mountainous horizons,
   is part of a soul’s sacred circle of life…


November rivers ...the final autumn entry of 2017

Ok, let me get this straight..
actually no.
I don't want it straight..
straight never went .. straight
to what it's supposed to lead to

Let me get this curved?
maybe that would help
then again..
curved is straight with a dent
what if I have multiple
d             n                        s
    e                           t

Then let me get this dented?
ups and downs?
urgh... de ja vu...

Let me get this...
now..
that's more like it ...

Temperance for itself was not her virtue,
Nor was meekness.
She often would boldly and loudly
Run into the fray,
Singing lullabies
Half-naked
Dragging that **** one-eyed bear
Behind her.
She wielded it like a poleaxe
Against my knee
As she dashed into
Her Nowness of being
Then out of the room,
Her new-found feet
Carrying her off
Around the next adventures corner.

Ello, Enlightenment.
Yet we meet again,
Your elusiveness is profound.
Because, I haven’t found,
How to hold on to thee.
Shall I sit underneath a tree?
No, I will just be.
In tune with nature,
Like the bees.
In my future,
What changes things? Powerfully,
I think, that it is me.

Self-centeredism is the past,
Forget your sins.
Commit good only, please.
Freeze time. Forward-backward,
Not an option, but now we are here.
Forget time, unleash your nowness.
We are here as sentient beings.
Can you change anything?
Be that which you are,
But don’t be the same as you were.

Growth comes from you,
Inside your mind.
It’s a choice, so choose first;
That which is better.
Don’t settle like the dirt under your feet.
Push forward and see the beautiful
Being that you can be,
that you are to me.

By: GeoEthE
Georges Ethan Eloquin
Good Environmental Ethics
Great Energy Everywhere

Older-than-you people speak
But their words scream
Bombardments of condescension and pseudowisdom
"Things will happen and people will change"
They don't
And they don't
Ensnared by the lure of expectation
Their promise is just beyond your grasp after a billion grasps
One step away...for a trillion miles
But the potential of the now is undiscovered
Yesterday filled with regret and nostalgia
Tomorrow, well, it never comes
Nowness could be happiness
...Once the rest is gone
Isn't that what they should tell you?
And, but, can you?

Our lives are set-up in beautiful hypothetical.
Propositions swirl around like conveyor-belt sushi- delights to choose at semi-random.
Light and fluffy brightly colored choices.
Candied aftermaths of promise.
We stare at the world like through a pane of glass that houses every good thing.
Select a sweet impermanence.
Finger a whim.
Cast yourself onto a game of chance.
Play your favorite song on the jukebox of 'nowness'.
Skip all of the imperfections in a sidewalk.
Dandy through your daydreams.
To want is to behold.
To wish is to brush the tips of splendor.
All of it free for now.

Born between a Womans legs--its always been that way,
never has been any different nor will it be any different.
Wrenched from sublime existence in the womb into a world
only guessed at through womb walls of flesh and muscle.
Sounds only vaguely felt rather than heard,
now rudely,crudely,loudly heard through ears
newly awakened into facility.
Eyes opened to see these big things occupying space all around.
Things that look like a distorted baby.
Youll learn later that it is age and food and experience
that distorts the babies body up to and beyond adulthood.
But now your nakedness feels air all over your wet skin.
Fingers,hands holding touching--
moving you this way and that way,
but no words in your head to describe it all.
Only seeing smelling feeling and touching with new fingers and senses,
fists closed at first--senses dormant at first.
Then a voice(for that's what it is)says sounds and words
(for that's what they are).
And other voices talk and laugh and cry (for that's what they do).
Sounds in your ears.
Sights in your eyes.
Touch on your skin.
Smells in your nose.
All these registering in your brain.
FEELING FEELING.
Lifetime has  started in a different way to Wombtime.
The clock of your life has begun its ticking.
Your existence is being  measured.
Until one day you look into a mirror
and see the Man or Woman you've become.
Known as so and so.
Believing in such and such.
Knowing this  and that.
And all that time and space
in between birth and the nowness.......
You smile at your reflection,
note the wrinkles,
the suntan,
and you wonder where it all went to?.
More importantly you wonder
where is it all going to?.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk

the maze

inside the rules of the car
you promise me that no matter what
insane or compromising thought might
have arisen from either our mouths,

there would always be the maze to keep us as friends- naked friends. ******* friends. hot, ****, blonde and brown haired beasts summoning our human equity to arouse and arraign each other, each's other:

say,
drowning in internacional shipping bombings, lost at terminals, aboard flights.

noting our beasts

the minimalist pianissimo of black and white keys, the growing spirits of a Richter violin filling us up
with anti-matter, inside this hours black tideless extremes. this place's mooring soporific tinders. You placed this cart of humanness too close to the life you live

even say,

rules i wanted to know but
never have to practise in your absence
nowness self-less and losing to the light, losing to the ocean, each ounce of life is now vastly different

inside of me
where dead worms
cannot crawl
i continue to die beside your sprawl
where heavy night brings memories of
your skin affixed n entwined
each of your twelve unspoken names
each of these hours that won't be mine

and as this box of earth resigns
its peace, i wish never to have known
this haunting sea, where quaffing like
the enigma of misery
my secret voice cannot be free
my eyes cannot bare their sight to see
if ever chance should be

We were good.

While you were ****** and I was intoxicated.
I saw you through a Rosé tinted wine glass and felt your eyes caress me through the
Constant,
Concupiscent
THC haze.

We were junkies.

Sybarites on substances,
Addicted to lingered kisses.
****** on lust, wrapped golden.
Eye to eye and skin on skin.
Our altered minds in synchronicity.
Our bodies
pulsing
pulsing
pulsing
To instinct's beat, the almost thereness.
The best bit was always the almost thereness
while high as a kiteness because
After there,
Comes
Here and nowness
And

my mouth is dry
And your lips are tight
And you won’t speak to me.
So I try to ask you if...
But you shut your eyes so you don’t hear me and I know the answer.
You make me hate myself almost as much as you hate me so I know you’ll never love me.
But.
Your lips part in the coldest lie as we lie cold and lonely,
In the shared bed.
Sober and resentful.
La petite mort melancholic.

Me? Do I hate you too?
No!
I just don’t like you any more.
I’m not sure that I ever did.

It's floating and falling at once. There's no footing, but still a softness that eases the passing hours. If tomorrow is a problem, it's tomorrow's problem as I sink into a perfect nowness that extends beyond the reach of time.

It's dark out here under the cloudy half moon. We sit comfortably in silence serenaded by the popping drops of leftover rainwater careening to their next place of rest. They'll surely be gobbled up by the cracks or the ******* air or the perfect flow of water right down the drain and out to the rivers and the lakes of the many.

Alone with the smokey dark, so unlike the music of the forest songs in the old home that now belongs to some other child who might be wondering at my initials in the long dried concrete. What ever became of the small strange hands that cast their delicacy immortal on that casual day one summer, one year, so far away from the tiny reach of these brand new fingers?

Don't stand on the big fan, child, or try to fly by lifting your long skirt just enough to feel the hot billows underneath. Wait (oh the waiting!) for the hand of god to fill your body with balloons, and only then will you rise straight up and up and up till the farthest star is a blaring blot behind you on the white black sky.

Sit  there with the moon then and ask your secret questions. The answers in your swollen heart will sing like the cicadas clinging the trees and the jungle air will float you home on a cloud in the breeze.

The sun blocks the darkness from entering
The fun blocks the pain of nowness
The cast grays blocks  the blues of the smiles

The dark skin blocks the center the blacks, blues
The warmth blocks the freezing cold bitterness
The ignorance blocks the peace of painless

The eyes block the center of reality
The canvas block the passion of weakness
The hands block the closeness of grace

The heart blocks the sins of giving
The wakeness blocks the guilty of staying
The chair blocks the truth of the past

The creatures block the cup of fullness

There's a nowness to it,

they drop words and it's
like a fight between hummingbirds,
but how do they do it?

the
poetry pistoleros
sans
sombreros
performing like heroes.

I love them all.

you don't want to ***** this newness with yourself
you lie
half-woken, a story
slipping in vomitous avalanche
of nowness, mourning
on a stack of crumpled sheets

night-stuck whiteness, imagining all
the games you might play
if you were to forget
your age: shaking
all that powder into the cracks
of your muscadet
dry skin
notes of apples,
saline

weather-woman, with her green screen showmanship
had not portended this outcome
this modern diviner you hold in high esteem

you always liked the way magicians seemed
to make something out of nothing
(a rabbit from a tophat gap, coins out of earlobes)
and winter is sort of like that, too
you wake up and everything is blanketed, you don't remember
the process, how it all got there
a snowshoe hare leaps
like she formed right on the snowbank
paper that came pre-sketched
free of gestation

beneath the avalanche muscadet turns to claret
but we can't see it happening
for miles and miles a blank page
what dies under the heel of perfection
a magician never reveals his secrets

I’m an outsider
I come from the hot tropical zone where I was written into existence by the restless hands of a misunderstood writer.
I have one main fault that’s been keeping me far from Paradise
Far from You
and it’s high time I started listening out for directions from You.

Let me taste Your rivers, Paradise
Let me wash my hands in the glimmer of Your eyes
Cleanse me from my past
And nowness that I despise
so that I can turn into an inhabitant of Yours, a native, a real one
and I can be happy with my life beside You, regardless of everything.

Let me breathe in Your air, Paradise
The land where I come from is polluted and I couldn’t breathe there.
It was toxic air,
fires running inland.
In and out of my lungs in an endless cycle of detriment.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
It’s taken much from me and I come empty-handed with my eyes pointed downcast as I stand in front of You.
I’m so small compared to You, but I need You in every way, please be mine, please let me be Yours.
I beg You to let me enter Your gardens that thrive lush all the time - I beg You to let me grow.
Let me sink into Your fertile earth
for a minute to free my mind
and to learn the taste of heaven.
Plant my roots in Your soil and build a perfect life.
You’re like water and my lips are dry,
can I be an inhabitant of Yours?

I have nowhere else to go if I’m once again exiled
We both know it
And we both know there’s no highlighted path leading to Your gates, as to not let newcomers bang on Your iron fence;
You have to go through hell to see heaven and to pass.

Los Angeles?
on fire

New York?
crowded

I don’t know where to go, but I know for a fact that I can’t stay here - it’s not where I should be.
I feel a million eerie eyes following me and there’s no privacy:
Cameras fixed into park trees
Chemicals flying through my nostrils
and the government is trying to Frankenstein me by propaganda
but I don’t buy it - I’d be stupid if I did.

Which way should I head?
Which corner should I hide in?
Which hotline should I dial other than the hotline for unfulfilled dreamers stuck in a daydream?
If there was such thing, I’d be a full-time caller even though I have quite much, now that I think of it:
  I have a home!
  I have the best lover in the world!
But I’m missing something resting in the back of my head, that I can’t make out, as if through a fog.
It’s like hell down here sometimes, when the summer is at peak
when the sun reaches its zenith, climbing like a vine
       on olive trees

Let me daydream underneath Your freely swaying palm trees that have been growing here decades before me
Let me have one more thing in common with them other than standing there aimlessly and succumbing to the sun.
I’m asking for You - just You, Paradise.
Can I rent a single room in the back of Your grand vicinity and walk quietly to the bar at night by the pond with the lily pads?
No alcohol drinks - I abstain - no loud parties - none of that.
Only bedtime stories with the dim light of the tall lamp by my unmade bed, and the large window opened wide, so I can delightfully breathe You in from my nose to my heart.
Can I plant a few more roses where Your gardens lack pure life?

I don’t want to feel like a burden to You,
and that I’m undeserving, I’m aware, but consider my request, I beg.
Let me be a part of You
tomorrow or later, or never if You wish, I’ll understand that too.
But if You open Your iron gates for me
I’ll walk in and I promise I will blend in
  plant a rose or two
    water your roots
      I hope You understand.

          Forever Yours

Cards tossed well
bewitched to nowness
synonymously in the northern west to Roswell I reside
Laurel Canyon cast life is veined in music you get high to
no doubt along the way
or decay
autumn has passed and swiped all forms of grief away.
I wanted an ornament so I bought me eight
for me to debate
about my vogue or the way I walk
and hope
and love
To find an odd one out in process unchained
only because my next stop on the lunar highway is to
burgeon in peace in subtle light
Discard liabilities
fronting mirrored me
proudly wearing fine filigree.

Joy, Love, Truth

What do you think your brain is doing
When you’re sad, depressed or *******?
Lots!  When sad or in a mood
Amygdala and hippocampus glued
To memory’s emotions tied,
Sensations not forgot!
When you’ve got the hots for someone
And that one is non-responsive
Do not let depression in.
Turn a sadness into gladness
And remember, hippocampus
And amygdala are slingshots into hindrance,
Solving blocks impediments;
A cross to bear you do not want to wear
Life through.

To continue:
Are you full of cheer?
Do you like people
All around whomever and wherever
You come into contact?
Do you strive for truths and stick to fact?

My advice is but to focus!
Deal with body/mind detail.
When you hit resistance, stop
The movement in the middle;
When you hit insistent pain,
Plain sense and yogic counsel
Is to halt smack in the middle of its riddle.
You will soon feel feel well - or well-er
Than the hell before.

When feeling low, illusionary concepts flowing
Going into brain, mind, soul,
Into the feel of wholeness
Is to know the stealing big fat lie:
Illusion passing for reality.

Through the trick of nothing’s nowness
(you could never start with less)
You secure the greatest motivation
To escort you to salvation.

Fortune, fame; misnomer’s lame and empty crown  
Ties you up and ties you down -
When you see the sin of daily longings, basic wrongings,
Throngs with faith in spectre choices,
From profession to the newsy voices,
Know these are not real truths
But grounded themes on schemes and dreams
To lead one far from happiness to emptiness and being fooled.

Let your  ‘down-ness’ be your tool
To push and lead to real seeing,
No more robot in your thinking, but a being
Meant for more.
Joy, Love, Truth 2.6.2019 Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

Freed me from scheme
not by their alleged surfacing collusion
sunlight and violet grapes atop the old piano with florals shining
windows uncovered
Wide smile I’m unbothered

It was a normal party
three eighth obscured at noon
Second hand antique luxury of the anteriorly badass queens
ruling their badlands in rosemary crowns equivalent twins
Music loud Subterranean witchcraft
swaying between the prototype and old shaft
Legends last forever

at the finale of the ridgy pathway that’s meandering in waves

ivory necklace unobtainable by bare slightly exuberant hands

But straight up feral imagination no civilian could afford
You just have to be alone
to create art for real
You must have faith in artistic spirits roaming the soarable tunnels
all the monsters from underneath your bed
They’ve happened before
You used to breathe prior
Now you’re reborn and haunting two zones

i should just contain myself and focus on my mesmerizing nowness
Which I described badly in two novels
Not perceiving the veiled pleasure of longness
I call
ad fontes
My font is great vibes my worksheet is the oldest
taken and patented I have legacy not ominous
No fog as an aura following the unlucky and rejoice that they holler

I love you hard
I crave my statue of granite but white
Flawless here not yet existing in preview thoughts
ride along 405 extant in moss
That’s how many concepts I carry
but Before I move on

remember to reach

  once years start to pass
I’ll be both places at once.

Completely broke,
an empty glass, wants
to drink from your eyes.

Validity was incredible
between the silence
of centuries.

Give back my nowness.
Future had migrated into past.
Moon will not rise
for me.

Where was the apotheosis
of my defeats? Any extra
kiss of fireflies was not sufficient.

I will write my own
end in your hands, when
sun brings down the flame.

To sin with the invisible,
had become a liberation.

Sun also rises
As my friend would say

Lumping forward
Leaving the cage
Fat, unshaven, weary
To bask in the light
Of future thought

Realising nowness,
Embracing it fully
Clamping to the
Lamb of tenderness,
Stopped.
To choke on moments
Of yours
Gladness, folly

The moment
is a singular heart-beat
of time-- the essence
of your becoming
like none other
a test of your being

that interface
known to none
the dialogue
has just begun

the second
that went before
has shut its door

the nowness
the freshness
the openness
the intimateness

the memorable
perhaps the sublime
the realisation
to be recalled in time

all that life is
is self-centred moments
with the unknown
even the mysterious
the experiencing
of the person alone

how fragile
how unpredictable
the moment
that records
words and thoughts
unspoken