"I've been enlightened!"
"When?" I asked the smiling monk.
"The whole time!" he said.

White is a combination of all colors.
Black is the lack of all colors.
Enlightenment is white because it resides in the ten-thousand things.
Enlightenment is black because, in its residence,
it is not present.
White is not Black
Black is not White
Enlightenment is not Enlightenment.
It is.

the spell is already cast,
but i'll continue nonetheless.

the vines that now die
were once seeds
resting serene in repose of their parents' skeletons.

the ocean and the moon share the same movement.
the circles spun by suns are the same,
and their deaths will be beautiful.

truth is not attained
it is realized

the way is not made
it is traversed

love,
I'm still thinking of a question that doesn't fit
when I should be listening

I've been working
very hard
on expanding my vocabulary
beyond "I'm sorry."
"I don't know."
and the usual gib-gab
that us gibs often gab,
but the more I think about it
the more I find resolve
in the conclusion that
what really needs to be said
is beyond words,
and any representation
of me
on any medium
is only a fragment.

And there,
they're right.
I know why I hate the fact that
I love to look at mirrors.
Keeping my shards to myself.
My fragmented sentences,
I often forget,
can still light fires
in places
other
than here.

Because there exists,
and I'm sorry.

maybe someday I'll give a ****
and write something with substance

or maybe I'll keep the ****
so I can have something in abundance

and maybe I'll quit this ****
as a "*******" to redundance

nah

super novas
seeding flowers
a woman's powers
late night hours
falling towers
jehovah jehovah
these flowers are novas

the cigarette smoke hang in the air like
tropical transpiration.
dancing, dipping, she hung on to him tight.
flight topical sensations
starts rapid elation
to sacred vibrations.

Lovers in a lover's dance.
One in each others trance.
They form a flower of shape and motion,
and raise their smiles
like the sun
in an eastern ocean.

When, like a sudden shadow
with such outdone bravado,
a man sprung from underfoot,
from under carpet and soot,
and began to introduce himself,
his hand a continental shelf,
waiting for a shake from the lover's ocean.

Without attention, his hand slunk back to
it's bright blue breast pocket cave.
"Henry Ennui, man o' soot " he said was his name.
The lover's proclaimed "You're insane."

The words tickled Henry, like water the drain
then he let the lovers look
inside his brain
where the rain was
and the flame does
what it wants underwater

UNDERWATER:
the lovers gasped,
the ash man rasped,
pulled a pistol from his patched pants,
and proceeded to shoot them both.