Each line above is blurry
compared to the one current,
the one below.
Is this the nature of thought?
Of creativity?
A sparkling pop,
the mind recalls ever dimmer manifestations.
......................................................................................
In winter they tell me, with the frontal crashing in
and sidelong gliding out, of the two faced circling sea,
those sand escarpments form. The ones you can balance on,
rocking gently, like a buddah laughing at a human joke.
in forty nine days the pineal gland develops in the human brain stress triggers a trip releasing a heavy dose of DMT that most likely won't occur naturally again until we leave this body behind and become light I pray my beloved friend Billy Capozzi may transcend the bardo realm and defeat the wrathful deities to either be free from this cycle of samsara or to return again as a dancing dakini bodh
Imagine yourself sitting in group meditation easing into a comfortable altered state of consciousness, when a voice you now know so well begins speaking loudly inside of you.
I have been a poet and writer for a long time. These past three years, I have been the astounded witness as the dam has burst letting loose these words of ecstatic, bliss and wonder. It is as if Rumi himself or some other one from the Beloved has spoken through me.
A Blank Page I desecrate
with words I retaliate
Blood drips from the jagged edges
of my souls
Shattered pieces of me missing
Torn by women "getting free"
Oh, I'm a snake ( hear me hissing ? )
Women who take me
Talk love and do kissing
Leave me empty, cold
So many boiled leaves of tea
A girl walking by
gave me a smile
And I
didn't know quite what to do with it
anymore - `cept
to try to send it to you
So I'll pass it along
and get lost in a song
that I've forgotten to write
yet
A kid walking by
gave me a hug
`cause he felt I was lost
I'm not I said
but something is
. A last page
there remains the question
of you without him
why's all ways persist
in wondering what if
. A last page
could become a beginning
of you without loneliness
are you wondering what if
you could only try
could only reach out
and shatter the emptiness
in both our worlds
He don't want
. A last page
A tentative tracery of touches
begins to draw my dreams true
the you I've felt, begins to be seen
in the reach of a hand
pinked alabaster warm slim and firm
lithe moves and un-slowed grace
I'd wonder where you went
And find you didn't go
I'd start to ask a question
And find you explaining why
So the dreams continue
A thousand particles
vaporized sheen, Liquid Glass
coalesces in to touch
fingers of atoms
reach into each other
and exchange electrons
grasping each other further
form
globes of suspended
lakes and streams
in the air
then fall
A dream intrudes on daylight
Or was it a dream?
A visitation perhaps?
I've been imagining
How we will meet
Again so often I can
Almost see it
Will you run to me?
Will you open the door and there I am?
Will I turn and see you?
Will I run to you?
again - eyes in tears
what right
have you
to tears
that should
be mine
to shed
still - tears in eyes
refusing
to drop
clouding
visions
silent
How know
you that
these - tears in I's
are for
me ?
They are
instead
the ones
you refuse
to shed
yet - I's in tears
there were stars in my eyes
stars once fixed
transfixed
now falling
your stars, like diamonds
now changing
rearranging
slipping with every drop
flowing, now cleansing
into time rushing fast
into water so warm
diamonds crushed at last
stars now falling from
nebular trappings
broken
so i reach out this glassy arm
to touch what was woken
and take it back
to its place of
"Banish the word 'struggle' from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
We are the ones we have been waiting for." — Hopi elders
