Emotional to the point of rationality
How is it then
to choose to live anew
and so severed must your world of now become?
I am no surgeon
but I stitch
pieces I know to be true
into the whole-new
(dripped in my own blood)
where harm is removed.
The whole-new
out through existence buzzing
becomes the surgeon –
the felt bestowed a tool which pulses
the harmonies of the heart.
How is it thus that worlds are severed
so that new ones may emerge.
This here rain drip
cleans the wounds of hearts so tender
damage-shattered
by words of illusion
– the one tender hearts are prone to believe.
Come back, then
pieces bleeding at the seams
to be replaced
and / or forgotten.
Sweet,
surrender then
to the wounds tender hearts yearn to believe in
the rain drip-dripping in vessels which carry
truthful devotion
the one tender hearts ought to believe in.
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.
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.
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.
How many days
have drawn you past
without your tears
the set grid’s lapse.
How many days
have felt skin strained
and locked your spine
the mind’s reach pained.
How many days
till deep you lay
release the bones
let force decay.
I think
I know
but whether I know
I shall know
only when I know.
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.
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.
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.
Notes From Afar 