Believe(in)

This here rain drip

cleans the wounds of hearts so tender

broken-shattered

words unkept

through waves and whimsies, and intensities

life speaks in tongues of illusion

– the ones tender hearts are prone to believe.

Come back, then

pieces bleeding at the seams

away from the mind and the body

to be replaced and / or forgotten

sweet, surrender then

to the wounds that tender hearts yearn to believe in

ground to dust, where pieces combine

the rain drip-dripping through vessels that carry

truthful devotion

the one tender hearts ought to believe in.

The Leash

Fanned

at a thousands miles

cinders coated

in what

I smother them in –


beds
mornings
dancing
drinking
evenings
goals
dreams
people
dicks
glitz
and whispers


– all the things I do to forget

that ring you bore

(you hid)

in not choosing (really?), though

you leashed me

and leash me still.


As much I tug and gnaw

rip, rip, ripping

part

or free

the feral

stupid longing

for you alive in dreams

and not more.

For living inside

of a heart in life boiling

beyond where you left me

I hope to unbind

one day.

Heart

Pass through, as ease to some it seems

and loss-release of lives lived hardly

in search instead of softness.


Forth from softness only love may spring

grounding tender darling dreams

where scars guard wounds from rupturing themselves


gushing inward, streams of being

stitching marks unhurt

and born of boundlessness and trust.

My body

You touch my body

in court

my body

becomes no longer

my body

becomes the object on which

your wishes are drawn.

You touch my body

in court

my body

because a free

un-

birthing body

shakes your house

master

your house

we dismantle

with tools which are not your own.

You force my body

in court

my body

to fill the one place you see

for my body


but then, guess what

so many bodies

rumble the streets to get

my body

and swallow you

deep

utter(us), many

enraged, so many

which you and your load shall abort.

Divinity

Pleasure I understood as theory

where now sensuous enjoyment lives.

Vital,

my body demands the one that shall drink it,

the one with whom energies bind in ecstasy known to consensual givers unhindered,

flowing in and through one another, as one delivered

to places only gods may recognise

and mortals who choose to break with earthly binds, fused

with the gods,

moulded into that which brings woman to understand her divinity

and man his rightful place beside her.


For she shakes the structures that must be shook

if we us humans are to move further.

This is what must be done,

what we are being asked to do –

to discover divinity within or perish

as the lowlives we aspire to be,

inferior to all that we thought ourselves superior to,

lost in the destruction of our own making

which shall regenerate, only without us.

The Absolute Inseparable

I remember the day I realised my body

– what luck to find it attached to my head.


Nobody bothered to teach me to live in a body

– only that using the head would help.


I seek now the absolute from within this here body

(human experience from dualism saved)


as mind cannot dwell without body

neither is body truly separable from its mind.

How futile to seek hypothetical vacuums

where rational reason is said to exist.


Abandoning vacuum for the human lowlife:

body to mind

as mind is to feeling

and feeling back to the body and mind;

circular schemata a center connecting

penetrate through to link each one up.


No separateness in totality, and no isolation

only varied dimensions indissolubly linked

where as soon as we deem one more than the rest

we are lost on pursuits of confusion, at best.


The absolute inseparable

as thoughts from the body and feeling rising the thoughts

learning sensation to create sense therefrom,

that absolute center where futures still grow.

Love-Grief

My heart throbs with wisdom

of a thousand moons weaving

past into future

, now ,

moment deceiving

, holding totality ,

, holding all being ,


being through feeling alone

(is it pulsing?)


love-grief, and all that’s between

the self-reaffirming

surfaces gleaming

(grief cannot be where love was not prior

and I’d rather grieve love

than neither at all)

Love-grief fills us with being

pulsing cells feeling consumed

drunken with bliss, formidable after

arriving through all which one sense

and so heavenly drawn.

Speak out to me lovers, the language of grief

through hearts broken throbbing

, holding together ,

held together by light

of all the stars in the heavens above

together to shine

in love-grief’s might

boundless in depth

as the height we may rise

together in bliss and sorrow combined

embraced by this vastness

and by it brought back to life.

Paul-Linke-Ufer, Spring ’21

Traffic of humans and ducks

by the water

filling, bulging the buds

hanging in strings,

pearls

off branches of willows

weeping for friends long unseen

and lovers unlived.

Smiles from strangers

and laughs at the dogs;

life in the air of a city

losing, lost

longing

to leap in the arms of those strangers

and return to admissions of lust.

The surface in shine,

sun and friends there no longer unseen

emerging desire and welling up spring

in traffic down by the water.