Tuesday, June 28, 2022

I was never born

 The cardinal rule of existence is found in levity.

Are you cast from spirit or

from somewhere nameless?

Love is shone down in mirrors.

The grass is full of roses

where silence understands us all.

We're looking in the card catalog for answers

which evade us.

The willows sing enchanted songs.

Each vine is a psychedelic eye

on to which visions are ineffably born.

Heaven can you tell us a story?

It never seems to snow there.

The moths are untouched,

as white light circumscribes the landscape;

they're leaning towards flight or glory.

Do not speculate on that which has yet to pass.

Do not fear heights or immovable objects.

When your time comes sit as still as possible, as if

 you were never born.

We're always thinking of somewhere else;

we're all just waterfalls.




Saturday, June 18, 2022

Archetypical Moonlight

A double Helix extends downward.

I am traveling through apocryphal time

just in order to find you,

through neolithic hallways of extinction.

The golden compass points North

into the great chasms of wealth.

Its stairs are prisms repeating themselves.

The stars in the sky are eyes.

I idolize the sky endlessly.

The rhythm of the wind informs us of the weather.

We are alienated by time

as if finality were a single destination.

I evaporate into dreams.

The milk of fountains inebriates

all the white trees.

A trail of tears 

drowns our countless lives.

The question is of emancipation.

Another dream 

springs up in nature

 divided by twilight.

Essence is the secret,

said the moonlight,

the magic of seekers.

Go and find the gold

in the petal of a sunflower,

in the arm of a sun,

in the center of the womb,

in the claws of terra.

Saturday, May 21, 2022

The Through Night

It is in the through night

that slowly passes through itself

like an automatic memory

where we are permitted 

freedom to glide with myth

and undergo transformation

we are ageless

we are satellites

there is no Dharma

there is no final symphony

the night is a sorcerer

casting its spell

I stroke its hair

strand by strand

its lips pressed forward

in order to be kissed

there is a green emerald

in the beak of a bird

speeding downward

into the threshold of awareness

into limitless daylight

which gives birth to a sun

faraway forests relate to

some destiny yet to be revealed

there is an eye in the clouds

drunken on disbelief

there is a simile in the shadows

which familiarizes itself with love

every book is written into the stars

and those maps and coordinates which lead to

treasures are held there too

my gentle hand caresses the night again

a large opal cracks to reveal

its ants which race up the arm endlessly

I pull from my heart a single rose

and set it on the stone

interleaved fingers give way to a fertile sky

consciousness is

the emerald dream

surrounded by garlands

its rose colored horizon is sublime

into which the night is finally engulfed

Sunday, May 15, 2022

It Seems

 It Seems


In the winter, love.

In the summer, fortune.

Hearts gather in laughter.

An immense tapestry

hangs the veil.

The flowers are our diamonds.

There in honey we wait,

anxious for the undressing

of ourselves to the clouds.

A little love is grabbed onto and kept

in its secret case

with a delicate hand.

With a little love

synapses grow

and reach out to opposite lands,

hungry,

where white radiance burns.

The sun sets down on something

it seems is important.

White lily,

you are far away.

Wide oceans,

the songs I've heard.


Love's Violin

Love's Violin
A bird in the rain