What is the point of spiritual enlightenment ?
I want my quarter back. I want a beam of light that won’t weaken me. I want to reawaken to deeper purpose.
I want blue skies to have a reason.
I want, I want, I want.
The road to redemption is laid out, but like Janus I face the other way.
Dark clouds of chemical fire in my head
And I can’t feel my heart
Streaks of lightning through my flesh
And I can’t know your touch
but never consumed
All is a plenum
Bubbling gurgling soup of life
each molecule pregnant with love. war, tragedy, conquest, birth, unrest, chaos
worlds upon worlds
spinning in a few fleeting particles
waiting to explode and collapse
and unfurl into a world that will vanish into the shadow of a love or a death
that will vacillate between the empty image of life
and the cold, unnerving certainty of a line that catapults forward
said the smoke that turned to air.
Who could care?
Said the joke that staled the air.
He says he rides the mare,
and fair is the maiden who pays her share,
rides in the saddle,
and gives the stares,
winks at the salesman hocking his wares.
Like hungry gorillas fighting in pairs,
they are chiseled from stone,
tearing tooth from bone,
striking at the toughest stone.
Nothing I wouldn’t do for an old crone.
Hone the edge on the glint of the night,
the razor’s cut,
the lance of the knight.
The silver reflections of wrong and right.
The golden bloom of the final slight.
They fleeced his bones
of the hero’s golden marrow
His dues paid in pain before
a god who says to be his father.
He was spoken before he was born.
Now the sea crashes on her lover,
the rock shore
And none sail upon the water.
Brick mortar and peasants make the earth
And the peasants hail the field dancer on his way
The bridge to all resentment littered with britches
Stitched up to your pride
Rushing a long way off to where scarecrows fall
And spacemen spy new horizons
Where only the fungus grows
And cold hells visit on far away moons
Where your eye might spy a bright eyed maiden
Her hair alight with the blazes of sun
And her hand alive with thunder
As a breeze blew in over the sea
The common people played thier lutes
And danced upon the ocean
And for sun but for moon
There was a pittance of nurture
In a sky who had left on his way to tomorrow
pressure heart explosion
So bold – but retreating
To a hole where
Pulverize you Iron Hammer
Blood vein Trip over the stairs
Volume of desire turned up
Ring bell bell ring
Someday, nobody will be able to own anything
because it is all made out of data.
Talk products, Talk money, Talk chalk in the rain dust
Talk money, talk air ducts, talk talk in the main dust
Whisked away like a thread and a rug
the basis of light, the muddy old thug
The monkey men stand and they talk and they shrug
The crawling, the griping, the cringing and weeping
The light in the magi-screen finally sleeping
as slate sky falls and shatters on blood
fire in the sky is coal light dimly creeping
The scarecrow is quietly reaping
What the maker dreamed whilst he was sleeping
Turquoise, the cold air around us
Trees rooted reach up
Like a fragile skeleton had
One aetheric fin in another dimension
of light and of sound
Of thin dim abound
Round and round
in the dark glass of the tree
spice, clay and grass
and real crocus sativus
a smell of clove and the scent of reason
like a spinning cup that had flowed abound
fell to the ground without a sound
like marksmen and crazed glass and tree roots put down
The searing, the branding, the billboards abound
like some desire in a bull’s heart had died
yet his eyes were brighter and meaner, to the side
gun starts you running
the gut has been opened
And the earth softens to meet you.