1328

The vastest earthly Day
Is shrunken small
By one Defaulting Face
Behind a Pall—

Crispin as hermit, pure and capable,
Dwelt in the land. Perhaps if discontent
Had kept him still the pricking realist,
Choosing his element from droll confect
Of was and is and shall or ought to be,
Beyond Bordeaux, beyond Havana, far
Beyond carked Yucatan, he might have come
To colonize his polar planterdom
And jig his chits upon a cloudy knee.
But his emprize to that idea soon sped.
Crispin dwelt in the land and dwelling there
Slid from his continent by slow recess
To things within his actual eye, alert
To the difficulty of rebellious thought
When the sky is blue. The blue infected will.
It may be that the yarrow in his fields
Sealed pensive purple under its concern.
But day by day, now this thing and now that
Confined him, while it cosseted, condoned,
Little by little, as if the suzerain soil
Abashed him by carouse to humble yet
Attach. It seemed haphazard denouement.
He first, as realist, admitted that
Whoever hunts a matinal continent
May, after all, stop short before a plum
And be content and still be realist.
The words of things entangle and confuse.
The plum survives its poems. It may hang
In the sunshine placidly, colored by ground
Obliquities of those who pass beneath,
Harlequined and mazily dewed and mauved
In bloom. Yet it survives in its own form,
Beyond these changes, good, fat, guzzly fruit.
So Crispin hasped on the surviving form,
For him, of shall or ought to be in is.

Was he to bray this in profoundest brass
Arointing his dreams with fugal requiems?
Was he to company vastest things defunct
With a blubber of tom-toms harrowing the sky?
Scrawl a tragedian's testament? Prolong
His active force in an inactive dirge,
Which, let the tall musicians call and call,
Should merely call him dead? Pronounce amen
Through choirs infolded to the outmost clouds?
Because he built a cabin who once planned
Loquacious columns by the ructive sea?
Because he turned to salad-beds again?
Jovial Crispin, in calamitous crape?
Should he lay by the personal and make
Of his own fate an instance of all fate?
What is one man among so many men?
What are so many men in such a world?
Can one man think one thing and think it long?
Can one man be one thing and be it long?
The very man despising honest quilts
Lies quilted to his poll in his despite.
For realists, what is is what should be.
And so it came, his cabin shuffled up,
His trees were planted, his duenna brought
Her prismy blonde and clapped her in his hands,
The curtains flittered and the door was closed.
Crispin, magister of a single room,
Latched up the night. So deep a sound fell down
It was as if the solitude concealed
And covered him and his congenial sleep.
So deep a sound fell down it grew to be
A long soothsaying silence down and down.
The crickets beat their tambours in the wind,
Marching a motionless march, custodians.

In the presto of the morning, Crispin trod,
Each day, still curious, but in a round
Less prickly and much more condign than that
He once thought necessary. Like Candide,
Yeoman and grub, but with a fig in sight,
And cream for the fig and silver for the cream,
A blonde to tip the silver and to taste
The ***** gouts. Good star, how that to be
Annealed them in their cabin ribaldries!
Yet the quotidian saps philosophers
And men like Crispin like them in intent,
If not in will, to track the knaves of thought.
But the quotidian composed as his,
Of breakfast ribands, fruits laid in their leaves,
The tomtit and the cassia and the rose,
Although the rose was not the noble thorn
Of crinoline spread, but of a pining sweet,
Composed of evenings like cracked shutters flung
Upon the rumpling bottomness, and nights
In which those frail custodians watched,
Indifferent to the tepid summer cold,
While he poured out upon the lips of her
That lay beside him, the quotidian
Like this, saps like the sun, true fortuner.
For all it takes it gives a ****** return
Exchequering from piebald fiscs unkeyed.

They tell me to lay down
and to please look at the fish.
Notice how they glide
in-and-out of the cool-blue
water; how they don't have
a care in the world -- they're
fish: one out of millions;
mindless; alone in packed
tanks; alone, jammed in
metal cans full of corpses
and low-quality mustard.

Putting the mask over my
perfect nostrils, my straight
teeth, they say Don't be afraid;
listen to my humming; how it
will blend with the high-pitch
screech you hear, now; becoming
an equilibrium of torture and
fantastical strangeness, unbound
by Gods, by Persons, by Loves.

Inside this perfect dark,
you cannot think beyond
the giant broad strokes that
is the world sweeping by --
and it is marvelous, the
buoyant miseries floating
above your head; my head
of ambivalent visions;
the Earth's core, a furiously
violent brilliance, ablaze
beneath my feet, under
layers of confounded
deathly masquerade; a
mask much like mine:
an egotistical reflection
brought out by one's
feeling of gigantic import-
-ance, despite hanging
from the vastest of ceilings;
a wannabe church in the sway
of jungle mind; primitive instinct.


***

You know you can wake up
  at this point, or so they say.
What does it all mean, to which
I murmur, I don't know. It's
hard to say what I know; if
anything, all I have is doubts.
All I can muster are regrets;
I wish I could return to that
perfect dark, confused and
semi-philosophical; all-
pretentious: a feeling of
being bound by brokenness.

They tell me to chill out;
you use semi-colons like
they're heartbeats. Focus
on whether your chest
holds validity.

I get so mad knowing you will never understand what I see.
You can’t see the pain,
the memories,
or the people who make up these images.

My mind works in such an otherworldly way,
I wish it wasn’t so far away.
I wish I could just share it with the world.
Even if the vulnerability hurt me, it’d be worth it to be less lonely.
All my thoughts could be appreciated,
and in their own light,
to the right people only.

I think in sentiment, so the clues of the portraits I create,
would communicate in clear secrecy, the truth they bear about me.
This unimaginable beauty,
that even I only see in glimpses,
would maybe a have a place,
could maybe be hung in a museum,
sold in an auction,
stolen for its value,
fought for to save.
It’s infinite.
the stream, the river, the trees, the forest,,,
the undetected particles in the air glowing in the ray of gold squeezed between the canopy from the sun,
the world of green and blue underneath the repetitive streaming and complicated designs that carry rainbow colored fish,
even just the emptiness of sound at the precipice before the greatest vastest canyons of our earth...
You can’t dare to frame a single one of these without spending every medium you can find.

And now I think I get it:
Art cannot contain the beauty we see and feel,
It is meant to be a crack of a window to the inside of what's real.
Art borrows a pinch of the beauty to show the others a glimpse to awe at,
And if successful, that small crack may bring one into the glory of it all someday.

The foliage on the western shore swallows the last radiant sliver of golden sun.

The pungent scent of gasoline reaches my nose and the boat is back in gear, already idling, as he titters anxiously behind the wheel.
“The sunset’s over, are you ready to head back?”

I’m not. Not yet.

I close my eyes and exhale the last drag of my cigarette. Smoke billows out through my slightly parted lips and into the fresh air that engulfs us.

It spreads
infinitely
in front of my eyes, blending into the air around us until it has become one with the atmosphere.  
I open my eyes.

Turning my head to the right, I glance out at the open water that surrounds our tiny boat, stretching far and wide encircling us.

I know that he is ready to leave. He opens his mouth to ask me again, but before he can I reach out and press a finger to his warm lips, silencing him.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable, and turns his face from mine. My hand gently drags across his skin as his head revolves on his muscular neck and he allows my fingers to rest peacefully on his flushed cheek,
skin to skin,
me to him.

I drop my hand back to my side and his handsome features reveal a brief moment of relief.

“I suppose we can go now”
I take a reluctant last look at the trees, swaying gently in the June breeze, blissfully unaware that they’ve stolen yet another day from this Indian summer.
He begins to turn the boat, heading the bow back to the eastern shore. Our small cottage peaks out through the thick trees and from this distance it looks like a shy little dollhouse, waiting for us to return and play.

We ride back in silence. Our boat splashes through the water and icy droplets leap out of the lake and sting my face. They are refreshing and rejuvenating. They are replenishing.

I stretch and smile; I look at his face. It is like stone, so focused on the shoreline ahead so that my gaze goes unnoticed.

And then there are words,
dancing in my stomach,
infesting my windpipe,
filling my mouth, tasting so sweet.
I clench my teeth together and fight to keep the truth behind them.

My hair rustles in the wind.

I want to stand on the tallest tower,
the deepest canyon and the vastest desert;
and I want to yell until everyone has heard
and understands.
But I know that he must learn for himself; though my tongue itches to share, to save.

My hand finds him again and grips his wrist tightly.
I wish my hands could teach him what they’ve know
That my memories, my understanding and my acceptance of the truth could travel out of the pores in my skin and into his.
I want the truth to infect him, to spread through him like wild fire.

Then he too will he understand
All That the World Has to Offer.

Apathy, oh dear apathy
How I suffered slowly
Heart so lonely
Even safe in their arms
Your coldest embrace
Hides my tear-stained face
Save me from the shell
From the nothing I have become

Dear apathy, dear apathy
My heart rings lowly
An echoless bell,
A great empty shell,
Ever trapped in the greatest of hells

Why you come to me I do not know
For you cover my soul and call it home
Shelter me from the rain in my head
Even when I wake from my shivering bed

There is no more dread
There is no more pain
Not sorrow nor aching
Only nothing again
Nothing but numb
What have I become?
What have I...become?

Dear apathy
Even when I should be happily
Joyously so
You refuse to go
Oh the great things that you know…

Dear apathy, dearest apathy
My heart, it suffered slowly
Until you came to me
Took me into your embrace
You shelter my tear-stained face
From all of this disgrace
That has become me…
Whatever am I to be,
With or without you
My dearest apathy?

My dearest apathy
I suffered so slowly
Heartstrings, tear and fray
For indescribable reasons I stay
Even whilst they play
Ever so lowly

There is no echo, no ring or sound
There is no song, no feeling at all
There is no care, not a bit in the world
For I have given all I have to give
In this great life that I live
I give and I give…
Until I can no more
Until I can no more
My heart opens the door…
It opens the door
Welcoming you into my coldest embrace

Dear apathy, you came for me
When I needed you most
I was but your host,
A wailing ghost
Until you came to me…
Now my greatest emotions
The vastest of oceans
They rest, now
They leave me be…
Since you have come to me
They leave me be…

Dear apathy, dear apathy…
These times you come to me
Shelter me, hold me to be
Lulled into your coldest of arms
Silence the alarms
Out with the candle
Out with me…
And welcome, dearest apathy

- Jay M
October 11th, 2021

1283

Could Hope inspect her Basis
Her Craft were done—
Has a fictitious Charter
Or it has none—

Balked in the vastest instance
But to renew—
Felled by but one assassin—
Prosperity—

What's a moment without the thread?
Every clock brakes and begins to slow
So long since a tears been shed
Hazy eyes don't look but low
Seeing higher than the status quo
Freely opressed like an opening window

Lies are true and pride is gay
Counting time from doe to doe
Pricy fees I don't care to pay
Menial lives of grass to hay

Withering the vastest shade to grey
Shaping paths into cracked Concrete
My face plastered on your dismay
Pulling me out to every heart beat
Fates revealed from simple body heat
Lying dead on a scorching sheet;

Beginnings lost just as they were found
Pictures taken as blind love meets
Creatings reality out of invisible sound
Judgement conceived with no one around
Walking with chains nailed to the ground

Fastened tightly to stop me from growing
Drifting from pace enslaved as a hound
Keeps me from where I need to be going
Holding back all that i've been showing
Planting emotions I shouldn't be sowing

Igniting proposals of fragile connectivity
Claim to be committed but I tend to do nothing
Isolated inside of a crawling relativity
With depleted self esteem disguised as complexity

i.
once, there was a maiden
with such beauty and grace
her hair flowed like the rivers
leaving glitter down its trails

she wore a snow white dress
and twirled around the skies
it gleamed and swayed with the passion
of a playful, restless lass

and the heavens loved her so
like the child of a knowing god
she danced with the goddesses
in a cradle bound in gold

she straddled across mountains
leaped and jumped through the widest forests
she sought nothing of little value
not 'til she knew how love felt

ii.
for that mighty hunter she met
during one of her forest trips
swept her off her feet
like she hadn't glided a single step
                    
and in that moment she fell
for someone unbeknownst
to the heavens and the goddesses
watched closer
                  
paying attention to her smile
how she straddled slowly
across the mountains
skipped quickly through the forests
        
how she held hands with the hunter
and let her hair flow like a river
with the glitter in its trail
glowing brighter than it had ever

and the maiden fell in love
deeper than the vastest oceans
wider than the sky that watched her
fall for a stranger with all her life

iii.
and alas, the hunter grew
tired of all shenanigans
he asked to be flown up high
to the heavens where she resides

and there, he saw
the cradle bound in gold
the goddesses all in awe
of how a mortal found them so

and yet he was welcomed in
had a feast and soon, was in
the grandest room there is
in his arm, the maiden sleeps

and as sly as he could be
from her grasp, he did sure flee
grabbed the cradle bound in gold
and sneaked back down to earth

to be seen no more
              
iv.
and so, the maiden wept
for days and weeks and years
not stopping nor pausing bits,
not resting her eyes that needed
              
nothing more than the mighty man
that she had loved with all her life
that had tricked her with feisty lies
but not once did meet her eyes
                                      
to say his love for her
seemed to be a tedious task
for all she ever wanted
was forever in his arms
                            
which the hunter did ignore
for love was not an option
for he claimed that the little maiden
was naïve of his true intention
                                
and so, the maiden wept
until her hair grew black and cold
like a barren river left to rot
its glitter found no more

and so, the maiden wept
until her eyes formed crystal tears
that resembled distant memories
of a love gone up to flames

and so, the maiden wept
until the day the heavens sighed
the goddesses all conspired
to do something of this lonely child

v.
her hair as black as the void
flowing like a river going nowhere
has become the universe that we are in
the widest blackness there has ever been

and her tears that shone like crystals
became stars scattered 'round
for she's never stopped crying
and so stars form up above

her crouching body sits
as the moon we see at night
because the heavens thought the hunter
would loathe to see her light

and her snow white dress
that blanketed the skies
is now a swirling galaxy
looking for love that's not in sight

and so, the maiden wept
until she, herself has become the night

we lay in the fields and on the dry hills
and smoked green out of a purple pipe and you kissed a boy who talked about crystals and rolled down under the stars
i shared my cigarette with soft lips and a strong jawline,
we all drew ourselves together on the hill that overlooked the world;
we we're the tallest, vastest beings ever to live, and the glowing lights that we're stuck like splinters in the palms of the sky we're mere reflections of what was within our glowing skin.

Blood runs down my blistered fingers
and my hands are cramped and shaking.
My pen runs dry but still I write
yet my resolve is slowly breaking.
If I give up, just die alone
and drown in my thoughts tonight
would anybody care enough to notice,
would they wish I'd put up a fight?
I was told to write out my emotions,
that they'd dissipate like lost love,
but instead there's been a monsoon
that I never will be free of.
Instead of sticking to the page,
the ink is raining down
filling even the vastest oceans
in which I'm going to drown.
So if I am gone before the morn
just know it wasn't you.
It's the ink that got the best of me,
and so I say adieu.

Alluring
           each single cell and fibre
An event horizon  
                      briskly scathing wider
A hyper-nova powerhouse
                               The death of a Sun
Quiet as a mouse on Earth
                                      In Space perhaps a hum

Quite the sight we've never seen
                                            From our eyes to the sky
But envisioned by a telescope
                                                 The vastest contrasts of realities
Exist so far and wide
                                                     Hard to fathom
Tiny atoms
                                                       Galaxies like grains of sand
What is big?
                                                          What is small?            
Whatever the answer
                                                             Space is ******* cool!

I weep for the breakers of things.
I cry for the destroyers
I mourn for the burners,
the crushers,
the warriors;
My heart breaks for the breakers of things.

From some timid landmark of dawn
From some futile cry of a mother in morning
From one tired yelp at the breaking of day
Arising despising the darkness descending
From some sparrows soaring
Where mansions are shining
And we with the warmth of hellfire opining
Weep yonder, we breakers of things.

They bled their red, their lines drawn deep
They poured their pots to wine
They gave the evil lonely sun
some bricks to bake
some backs to burn,
They sizzled, swaddled, and in air remembered
what life means to the withered, breakers of things.

Tarry not longing for some Ebenezer
Tarry not healing and balming the wicked
Tarry not over these dreams of ash
forming cracking among the sickest
secret heros of these verses
Won't weep for you, you breakers of things.

We fly with the fortunate
We jet high on the vastest expanses
a geography of sorrow
charting the grief of the waters
We dive deep down among broken things.
We lament holy breakers of things.

I yearn to exist in a space where the stars all but blaze
Where “stars” aren’t celebrities their plaster faces plastered
on magazine covers lining the shopping aisles
But where they bask in the night sky unpolluted
And exist radiantly

Where the culture ceases to revolve around
the newest latest fashion or video
And instead revolves around the ripening of figs
And the blooming of chrysanthemums
And the migrations of the swallows
Where we look like awestruck children
to those unpolluted stars above us
and this great earth around us
to tell the time and pass the seasons,
Living then in harmony with the revolution of the very soil and air
from which our life flows
It’s easy to forget

I crave an environment
that does not depend upon phone screens
Where my peers and myself do not walk through life
in an addicted daze
Unaware of the haze that descends as an effect
of such technological dependence
We are walking around with our eyes unconsciously searching
for the stimulus that society constantly feeds us
We are tripping over ourselves just trying to keep up
These electronic signals flashing upon thin panels of glass
And This is what we call Living

The dopamine flooding our brains
when that text vibration brings our popularity to attention
Capturing our attention holding it captive
We are prisoners of our own purchases
Stepping into voluntary chains
Producing our wrists for shackles
Rusting our humanity away enchained
in a web of unsocial media and notifications
We neglect to make space for our own existence
Disconnecting from our own physical experience
We don't even feel our fingers typing and swiping
Hoarding gluttonous over likes and comments and click bait headlines
Consumed by our own consummation  
We never have any silence

I yearn to exist in a space where our eyes like stars all but blaze
Awake with acute awareness of the present moment
Where we break shackles and push comfort zones
Basking in the raw beauty of an exuberant life we are conscious to experience
I yearn to exist together as radiant as the stars in the vastest galaxy

Lady RF
Soul Searching

I searched
the deepest depths
of the vastest oceans,
I searched way up high,
past the clouds,
in the bluest of blue skies,

I searched
deep in the hearts
of nature's greenest forests...
It turns out,
that I was carrying it within me
all along - only now, do I realise.

By Lady R.F ©2016

Kiss the earth slowly...lay a hand upon it...
nudge it, set it assail as if it were water.
Feel the body become a wisp of smoke--
disinheriting, yet curling about its fire.
Titillating the vastest contention of air,
and or ether...I do believe this sketch is
elementally complete...that's it folks.


Konstantinos Mark

Tracing parallel lines of fate
this upcoming moment
weaves fabrics of mutual experiences
as we carry on
our separate ways
together

A voice
of thousands of voices
my voice
tangles the clusters of my thoughts
strangles my cognition
twists my vision

Can you hear it

Across thousands of miles I found
In jungle of uncertainty
a grove of serenity
Amid dessert of desperation
an oasis of satisfaction

Who you are
is everything I've been striving for

When the sun goes dim
And the sky rains fire

I will be here
Walking beside you
like spindrift tracing ocean waves
Put my arms around you
like canyon embracing blast from the plain

Amongst
the city grids of dusts
the canopy of ashes

We suffocate
melt
integrate
into each other
Rise, and roam
beyond the vastest atmosphere
conquest, and dwell
above lands and seas

Feed me, as my heart
falls in bitter hunger
Caress me, as my flesh
burns in blazing desire

Deep down the abyss of the inner me
A voice shouting restlessly

I need you
I need you

Can you hear me

I love you is the heaviest and vastest sentence I know.

I spend my days trying to work out if im being crushed under it.

... Or drowning in it.

As a flower blooms it gives its best
Not that aware of others that are around
As each star it shines it shines alone
Not that aware of others seen from the ground

As a tree it grows, It grows as brilliant
As it can grow according to its lot on earth
It provides oxygen and only takes its own space
But though its only a tree it has such worth

As a cloud so high within the vastest sky
Its within its self beautiful even if alone
All things taken more so for granted in life
Are important as any other .. earth their home.

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2013

We're all just stars
Waiting for the moment we can truly explode
Waiting for the moment we can quietly fade away
Coloured by the numbness of living
And the coldness that death brings
Dully stinging our minds
Shaping our flesh and bones
Into something so strong
Yet so weak without a cause
No reason for hope
No reason for satisfaction
Because we're all just cold, lonely, numb stars in the vastest universe imaginable
With no real capacity to leave

Wow.

(Wow what?)

Just Wow.

Too many times now.

So many snaking paths arching and winding to this very door.

And what're you crying for?

Facing the grandest, vastest yawn,

what can one say but Wow?

And how.

The world gives so little that

eventually even the greediest must

count as his greatest treasure light seen glinting in the specks of dust.

I want to feel the warth of your skin
I want to feel your heart beating so
I want to kiss you all over and over
I don't ever wat to let you to go

How I love your hair in my face
Moving like the swells of the open sea
As we move as one in perfect ever motion
Together as the open sea vastest ocean

Our souls as one creating such poetry
No words in anything written could create
No books no poetry not any movies made
Nothing ever told stories love books or slate

All night long till the dawn peeps through
Like a dance of loving unending motion
Just us both on our own boat floating
Upon our very own all loves vastest ocean

Not thinking of tomorrow no oncoming sorrow
Only tonight how we exist as one till time done
Growing more-so all the time making love
till windows light with glow of morning sunday

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018

Yo, you fukin with the baddest,
no i ain't the other kid
claimin hype, im gettin right and Nigas hate the status.

I think its cause, they just dont know,
how long i've been at this
i've never ever heard a beat I can't Randy Savage.

the way you lookin at me, lookin like I'm just average,
baby im just tryna make you see through..: Glasses
I hate when you're passive, the tension gets so massive
started from the basement... So why we in the attic?

maybe we some addicts, your love's asthmatic..
I love it when you in the bed, working that maGIC!
I know we got problems, so lets move past it..
no turn around.. back it up.. like that ss did!

You know I'm just playin, you already know these actions..
type of moves, keeps the mood.. total satisfaction
Baby aint no laxin.. specially when I'm rappin
Sht, I spit real, so much, they need Captions

Ain't nothing in this world, through the sadness.. the ashes
so baby can we live it up, until we in our caskets?
Don't go and be phony, like the ones who be actin..
look in each other's eyes... tell me, can you feel the passion??

I used to try to sneak these looks.. starin at her as* and..
she caught me lookin once, she tried to make it so dramatic
Baby, you a dime.. tryna find the way AT IT..
put you in my wallet, ya you can live lavish,

If I-ever-sign (Iverson). they might think it was the PRACTICE..
but baby its you.. its true.. how low that *ss gets.
you liein with a bull (Liabilities).. who be likin all your assets..
Equity to get with me. Aint even seen the half yet.

And I aint even done.. I aint even at the half yet..
I'm just here to merc.errrr. bustin up your bracket
I'm in outer space. ya my mind reach the vastest..
choppin up your crew.. mutinies up at Krastor's!

I'm freeing all your chains so that you can **** the masters!
don't let them seize your fate.. you just gotta be faster!
Don't let them bring you down, ya they nothing but some bastar*s
tryna hold you back.. while you tryna move past them..

Dont let it bust your head.. life is what you can imagine,
Don't need a fking genie, to be the next Aladdin!
No need to show your pain.. don't just sit in bed saddened..
Find what you love.. WORK! then laugh at them...

it is 2009 again
we sneak around like creatures
beneath the shadows of the world.
and all it's hate and disappointment
through all the clouds that rain upon me,
you are the sunshine breaking out onto the street.

i collect each ray, a purest gold
a precious currency you've yet to know.
trade in my deepest darkest moments
for some closure
you are the end of what i thought was starting over.

you pick me up and hold me tight
like nothing you have ever held before
i am like nothing you have ever felt before
you are the first and last thing i'd like to remember loving.

with a heart that pretends to have never broken,
because you piece me back together
with nuts and bolts and weld to me your naïveté
i am are your new and hidden sin,
you are the angel that i caught by accident.

you are the hoping and the longing
and the rips across my sneakers
and my jeans
and i glow again in confidence
because you still believe in beauty
and in mine, particularly.

yours are the widest, vastest eyes i've ever drowned within
you are like candy and like sea salt
and like laundry
and i lift up every layer of time
to bury you and keep you warm inside.

you heal the hurt i used to long for,
you are the memory i'm made for
weaving dreams into a calmer, clearer head
of love before it learned that love was dead.

i am spread
over the vastest of expanses.

and the body that i cant quite use
is more moved by my wind
than from anything within.

You know your alive when you souls groov'en
You know your alive when every inch is mov'en
Goose bumps and vibrations volcanic explosions
Moving like an earth quake no chances of erosions

Lights out and good wine pulsations of making love
All in time with lifes rhythum two souls hand in glove
As if both were one as the sweels upon vastest oceans
Tak'en over with rhythum loves own pure devotions

https://youtu.be/JkjoFpqe6JQ

No ending in sight as energy comes from far away
You know your alive when you cannot move next day
Your very heart mind and soul can feel it all still
Your memory can still taste it forever it always will

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018

Pi is God in Disguise.

God is the circumference and the diameter

Of the teeniest circle and the vastest.

One Unending,

Only One:

And we are also God in Disguise–

Really, We are This.

We are This.



We pray to God

To restore our Awareness.

So we become Fully Aware

There is nothing but God

And we are This,

We are This.

Quest or journey?
One has an end in mind, which?
I wonder?

A step, a line to cross; who laid this line?
In my mind, I imagine I am several,
if not many,
opposing mental-

beings, persons, suggests a bird, there...

can you, no, you can't.
I am here, and you are there, and neither of us matters.

At the moment you next notice me, all I knew
of Beckett was sorted and stacked, so
hap hazardly that any thought may seep through the
softening cellular barriers,

holding,my idea of me as more than one thing, being
in contention for
contentment, with godliness {undefined}

how odd. No lie is of the truth; but known lies live
institutelary as gods,
mental constructs, ala church or synagogue or pedagogue

of your choice.
Sort.
---- breakaway narrative thread, said soto voce, golf shot caller voice,

Poli-yesterday, say we gone gno no mo no mo no mo hit

--- did you finish the line, must have
here am I, jack of all trades, you paid attention, at the mention of my
name,
the euphemism of vastest worth, or you know jack.

Gnosticsnotso impossibly true as a true player in the balance
of in for by, all manner of pre set positions,
adding weight where weight is wanting,
lifting lightly where denser matter
crushes hope of ever finding love {undefined}
the game of the gods-spirit-winds-whatevers

give and take that makes this world of mere words
flow
through and through, over and under, one way or another.

Here,
join me, it's 2020, I live on the westside of a granite wave,
a reflective wave,
I think, the crest is seven thousand feet, and past that, there
is Borego, and a trail heading east, across the land
in the rain shadow of the Pacific Crest.

This is the rest that remained, after the shamed man's journey
from the east.

West is west, keep going.

Peeping birds, and curious dogs in the distance, neither obtrusive,
but then the dog goes silent,
and the peeping voice could irritate if I were to allow... allow
by whose authority,
do i allow this peeping, ah, I see, it is the squirrel, squeek
no peep.

It will cease if I whistle like a hawk, but
today, that would be lying to the little rodent whose kits
are as cute as any cat on Facebook, but only

when the peep
stops... and the I'll go on, rythm, I'll go on

be yonder when the role is called, say I,
I am here,
waiting with the rest that remain from Eden,
back in the day.

Fluid time, fluid stone, fluid light
all right, solid nothing,
nothing at all, a solid wall,

with a clustering of curious curio types,

messengers messaging between
whole and part, paid tuition
ars intuitus
rare anachronists insist, words evolve.

Words expand, as children into sage
or wastrel conformed and conditioned
expanding the idea of wedom,
breathing, statistically half in, as half out
breathe,
what manner of man am I, wombed or un?

Were there ever men such as we, who can
share context across history, at earth level.
----------------------

Considering the ant is no childish passtime,
Fulfilling aristocratic duty to learn then teach,
Considered here, linearly, on a thread

one thought wide, picked from circumstance,
to consider sidereally distant, sent from Mars,

between three and twenty minutes of time away,
on an arc affected by cohesive force, eh

grave-definite down, down, down
to the core of our communication organs,

signaling scents accepted as thought projected,
kindly lines, minds attuned as thought accepted.
--------------------

Consider ever, from your vastest sense,
of the gravity bubble we exist within,

you and I, my hearing, seeing, knowing
me and you, my guardian guiding will,

to which I choose to submit, under no threat.

General Common Sense, beauty recognition,

test to tell if the word lord means any true -ing,

Greek men, pure, indeed, wisdoming wedom

mob minds and freedom do not mix,
oil and water, sure as Hell.

Freedom from all forms of tyranny, what holds
our we shape, in our minds? Common sense,

under all the stories contained within this
Goldilocks zone of unintended circumstances,
working out, fine, just iusta think
fine…
is no real answer, it is a code, a social norm set
said, fine, I'll say it, as a code for so small
we'd need ants eyes to see it…

and, lo', we have those,
we have predictable macroscopic images,
graven deep into our idle time drifting state

watching art mock life, and learn life laughs.
--------------------