I twist into these mournings, daylight saving me from the burning flame of darkness swallowing my emptiness while waves of irony wash over me i am toppled by the days and silently i sit hovering... wondering if i can float this time wandering thru wastelands of my mind picking up the book written by me on the other side of the dream the other side of the dream where it all spins into me... I find all the lost notes and all the lost tones and all the lost fractures of all my mended bones
I am painted the color red. I am tainted, the mother has bled
we D R I P together thru the weathered web, creating worlds in our head, to spew out into the ethers, to want neither this nor that nor wonder where its at, but to birth the beginning again.... knowing we are just seasons of rhyme
flowering in our own time chrysalis, wrapped up in a fairytale of all that is and was and wasn't for sale...
Across these moonbeams, these split seams, these written clingings to the dream.... across all these we call to invisible bodies that are singing in their invisible moments that are bringing their soulstuffs into existence to balance the tension of the desire to Be, and to not Be....
and therein....lie......We.... somewhere in between.
May the Mirror be Faced With new reCognition A New I born From repetition Of ancient sounds Burrowed deep Within the blessed soul Who sleeps Upon the wheel Of premonition That pokes and prods This sacred mission Of god-in-hiding To forgive the Mind That cries inside him Divided into whither And whence Perched upon hallowed fence That splits the world From Sight and Sense The rebirth of Light In the newly born Sun Til the Name has no number Not even The One May the Mirror be Faced With new reCognition A New l born From repetition