....From The Tree Of........................Isolation & Thought
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_______________________________________________________ Strata Truth is very different from what I once thought. I know there slicing through all else, white light certain, but there's not. Truth is layers upon layers upon layers of lies, like a piggyback label where you peel one, to leave one and there's many, many levels. You peel and peel and at each level, there's a question till at the end, the question is the answer, that is truth. The answer, always love. Truth is love. Riding It I've swallowed a red hot eel that wriggles restlessly, he will not sleep or leave- I call him Sodomy; he rapes my equanimity with storm and urge. 'Sturm and Drang' the serpent whispers in my dream at night. His lips seal up my ears to keep the clanging in. Poof Had a poem I tried to delete then repost but wouldn't you know it, the damn computer crashed and I lost it. All my life I'll be treking after the one that got away. Bad Seed I realize I've arrived here misshapen from the egg, a keyholed pupil, imperfect but so subtly, it gives the vaguest chill, not the obvious ill will to those I meet. There is a chromosome or missing part that sets me off alone, and slightly dangerous. I mean no harm at first, yet it leads to such confusion that in fairness to those who will be coming close, I think it's time I put on my black hat. wired shut failed at everything attempted tired of licking drops that happen here this wide open, hungry mouth is closing up and no one's ever died of silence No Bluff Remember I was clear as clear can be but you mis read me even then- even when the stakes were very high. You must have seen it as a bluff, a huff of temper, but I am as I've always been: the child who turns on constancy who looks for that at center; when it's gone or broken, though I cannot fly I'm like a pigeon walking in the snow whose wings, too cold to flap in frigid air will walk, the red-socked feet make tracks, small four-toed arrows pointing in a new direction: not north or south, but determinedly away, carrying its message else where. Protection From Harm Lock the doors; swallow all the keys. Keep the wolves outside to circle other camps. Pull your rosary through your fingers- And if they ever do get somehow close enough you've got a handy slow, garrote. Homes Our childhood homes we carry on our backs like snails, the memories coiled round and round. The nightmares and the miracles spiraled end to end, heavy on our shoulder blades like wings that cannot fly. All Fall Down entropy is breaking at the center sending bits of brittle madness in all directions most of which are sharp enough to mortally wound and leave a corpse that doesn't even know it's walking dead. The Body Politic Totali tarianism isn't so scary when you're talkin about the heart who is afterall the only citizen in the sovereign state of me- and if there is democracy then I have given part of my beating best over to something less. Less red more pink at least that's just what I think. On To Page 26 .............. Return To Contents This site sponsered by 
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