With fangs and scales, and tongues protruding, we assume the confrontational stance. It is time for the reconciliation of truth or at least bombastic meta-harmonies. I am willing to in spite of apparent malformations. The ratio relationship of the pulverized self to the desire for wanton melding precludes the ability to immerse fully in the other. I am able mostly to intuit either dread or ecstasy. The puppets play out an inconsistent drama. The silhouettes are the hiding place.
Sigh. Hearts.
ReplyDeleteYour words bring much sun, Mountain. You make bright this dark isolation, though maybe shadow can become us. Shadows overlap, not immersion, but take same space, agreement with many lucks, confusion outside. A powerful silhouette, a diaphanous self, an emptying.
ReplyDeleteLeft foot rises
ReplyDeletehigher higher
sways in a circle
counter-clockwise
one opportunity to fly
right foot numb
jerks up jerks up
falls gently to the floor
leaf buds watch intently
one opportunity to fly
feathered interlopers dance
to the twiterpated beat
leaf buds watch intently
one opportunity to fly
right foot is awake.
Hello friendly people of the early afternoon! I was in the shack until very late so I am shamefully just waking up. Hi Capt'n sweetie. Hi Sushi, what a beautiful thing you wrote in response. And Regi, did you write that? Someone else? Please tell. It's so lovely. What nice things to find today.
ReplyDeleteHi Hams. Hams. Hams. I will see you later to celebrate your life in food.
MM, yes, I wrote that. Its going to be 70+ today and I get to play in the yard! Who likes flowers?
ReplyDeleteI love flowers and yards. Have a spectular day. I really love what you wrote, I did not realize you were a poet. Impressed. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteMM,
ReplyDelete"precludes" really, you think it "precludes the ability to immerse in the other", because I was thinking, salt is a suspension, but saltwater is so soothing it seems pure. It may be an illusion but "wanton melding," fangs and tongues and all is desirable like a dip in the ocean.
saltwater is a suspension, sorry
ReplyDeleteThanks Bob, you are right. It doesn't preclude, it complicates. It was late, my thoughts ran to isolation as they are wont to do, it is my prerogative as a Neo-Victorian depressive.
ReplyDeleteThe Earth is dirty. My soul is dirty. My desire is the one solace in a filthy world. All decays.
ReplyDeleteThe earth is no place for man. The self is merely a loose assemblage of pointless chards artificially united by the mind in a whole which cannot stand up to examination. We are doomed.
ReplyDeleteelementary particles are zoning in on my death-regions. i am taking notes.
ReplyDeleteToday is special. Don't forget me ...please!
ReplyDelete