Post by moseley on Mar 18, 2020 11:05:10 GMT -6
maybe if I had never been there, many times I was not
for when I have, she was always the same woman
in different bodies, but one heart and mine met there
momentarily, was I distracted, was I just dazed
if all then, there was brain damage, maybe more
she has come back to me yet again, and then, I stopped to see her
and how many times had I met her like it was something new
how many times did I see form for nuance and let it lead me
as if my own form was somehow governed by its continuance
and I knew her from time long passed
and for this I gave her hateful words, breaking bonds
crushing blows and knives out to every degree I took the circle
which, seems I cannot escape just like the circumference of a cell
was created by YHVH to somehow teach us this, every little thing
every little thing a lesson to what is larger, just in case we miss it
just when words have more meanings than they can be meaningful
I would just speak to experience that only initiation can relate
and then, such a bridge is on frail paperwads in a rainstorm
like being a little boy on a dark day looking out the window
at the thunderstorm and this artificial space is making me safe
but we only live when we are not safe
love most when we are not kind or trying to have virtue
I watch Janis Joplin tear herself apart, well, really, it was a history
of what she had did long ago and she was filling the bags with sand
and she forgot laughter, sugar loaf and hope
and if I was the enduring deer, shot down and eaten at the table
to be there tomorrow should the cycle not be broken
should the circle not be broken
the formula clearly tells you, if the circle is not broken, you will be
and in pieces is the only way you can be whole and there she is, what is left
what was always her, in forms of which I could not look past
more beautiful now, that I see her for what she really is, of course
not a thing at all, that butterfly we chase for its color
because it can fly, because it can delicately land on a flower
because it can make love in the air and give children that feed birds
and can eat trees, little godzillas, cattapillahs,
seems like the whole staircase winds into itself, there is no up or down
and then, it is not mystic at all, YHVH is waiting,
and ever her, she has just been waiting for me, to somehow stop running
maybe give up the idea or romance of being a lost boy in Neverland
and it never was, but I sure protested it enough to make a pastiche poster
with plenty of substance and fluff to convince the air to yield to its form and hue
when those colors wash, I find in myself a lie, only that I told it
or was told it, but in some ways, an echo, not from the solipsistic center of myself
but from the far distance that was waiting for me to find myself already there
what I deny, what I deny, because I am trapped by my little eye
I am kept prisoner by my little mind,
I tried to break her, run her away, she ran, she silently dropped away,she did all these things
for me, and I was more angry with her and I was more furious with her
because I could not be mad at me, not make peace with me, not forgive me
not speak to me, because it was me and not her, that was in the way
and more than anything, she knew that before she loved me and she loves me anyway
when one is all and all is one, when they are many and together, such is Heaven
and that is the unacceptable part as we so desperately seek to hoard just enough
material, to clearly define our sell-f, as if somehow we got to buy that
and we spend most of our lives earning just damn enough
to pay that price, bitterly to find ourselves lonely, not because we are
but because we just won't let what is, actually be
for when I have, she was always the same woman
in different bodies, but one heart and mine met there
momentarily, was I distracted, was I just dazed
if all then, there was brain damage, maybe more
she has come back to me yet again, and then, I stopped to see her
and how many times had I met her like it was something new
how many times did I see form for nuance and let it lead me
as if my own form was somehow governed by its continuance
and I knew her from time long passed
and for this I gave her hateful words, breaking bonds
crushing blows and knives out to every degree I took the circle
which, seems I cannot escape just like the circumference of a cell
was created by YHVH to somehow teach us this, every little thing
every little thing a lesson to what is larger, just in case we miss it
just when words have more meanings than they can be meaningful
I would just speak to experience that only initiation can relate
and then, such a bridge is on frail paperwads in a rainstorm
like being a little boy on a dark day looking out the window
at the thunderstorm and this artificial space is making me safe
but we only live when we are not safe
love most when we are not kind or trying to have virtue
I watch Janis Joplin tear herself apart, well, really, it was a history
of what she had did long ago and she was filling the bags with sand
and she forgot laughter, sugar loaf and hope
and if I was the enduring deer, shot down and eaten at the table
to be there tomorrow should the cycle not be broken
should the circle not be broken
the formula clearly tells you, if the circle is not broken, you will be
and in pieces is the only way you can be whole and there she is, what is left
what was always her, in forms of which I could not look past
more beautiful now, that I see her for what she really is, of course
not a thing at all, that butterfly we chase for its color
because it can fly, because it can delicately land on a flower
because it can make love in the air and give children that feed birds
and can eat trees, little godzillas, cattapillahs,
seems like the whole staircase winds into itself, there is no up or down
and then, it is not mystic at all, YHVH is waiting,
and ever her, she has just been waiting for me, to somehow stop running
maybe give up the idea or romance of being a lost boy in Neverland
and it never was, but I sure protested it enough to make a pastiche poster
with plenty of substance and fluff to convince the air to yield to its form and hue
when those colors wash, I find in myself a lie, only that I told it
or was told it, but in some ways, an echo, not from the solipsistic center of myself
but from the far distance that was waiting for me to find myself already there
what I deny, what I deny, because I am trapped by my little eye
I am kept prisoner by my little mind,
I tried to break her, run her away, she ran, she silently dropped away,she did all these things
for me, and I was more angry with her and I was more furious with her
because I could not be mad at me, not make peace with me, not forgive me
not speak to me, because it was me and not her, that was in the way
and more than anything, she knew that before she loved me and she loves me anyway
when one is all and all is one, when they are many and together, such is Heaven
and that is the unacceptable part as we so desperately seek to hoard just enough
material, to clearly define our sell-f, as if somehow we got to buy that
and we spend most of our lives earning just damn enough
to pay that price, bitterly to find ourselves lonely, not because we are
but because we just won't let what is, actually be
