is it
sad
that i miss you
after the petals fly
and the trees fall?
is it
sad that i wish to be
the pants you slip into,
the shirt that holds you so,
the smile you show only
when you know
i’m not around?
is it
pathetic to think
when my eyes wander
they’re looking for you?
is it
pitiful to know
when i lay down
i want you to be
the sheets ’round me,
the pillow i grasp,
the wind that comforts me?
thought may be but revolution centered on known knowledge
while reaching toward knowledge not yet contemplated:
through contemplation on what is shall arise what is not
through contemplation on what is not shall arise what is
perhaps through thought’s revolutions the possibility arises of detachment from anchor’d weight of body:
skin’s perceptions, eye’s perceptions, ear’s perceptions–
all perceptions of the body become detached,
and so detached is Thought itself–
as multitudes of perception become wound together,
solitary perception arises,
floating as on stream of This Life;
as flows this solitary perception,
distance may chance to be
and through distance the solitary perception continues as on stream,
falling as through translucent horizon–
though the solitary perception seems beyond the barrier of This World and This Life,
the solitary perception is still Present–
it is through great dettachment and great distance
that perhaps the solitary perception resurrects
as though from nothing: perhaps anchor’d hold is given slack
or merely overlooked is the constant existence of the solitary perception–
for this, keep the distance constant, or increasing,
so as to be aware of the solitary perception
while leaving the solitary perception…
: for, once stepping from womb,
what benefit lies in dismissing womb as though nonexistent?
: though through great meditation and being [not yet known by author]
may these attachments of perception be known:
as though they water run from cloud to unpored skin to earth to existence ever-cycling…
saRAH! mail me. now. to chris[at]vpoet[dot]net
Words… are but Definables
unless ‘so given is
Thought,
: Emotion,
.: a Stir within the Self,
.: a Click,
.: a Light,
.: …
“bob greazy!”– a shout to thee,
our friend and father of refine’ed gravity,
whose twisted trust and duplicity
well drown lungs in dairy-air’d visibility!
from palm a penny fell,
tumbling
down
air;
face,
tail,
face,
tail,
face,
tail
to smash in wade with waves unflinching
‘gainst your wall of rounded cinder
–unfamiliar are these words
to the pausedbreeze of your voice
as i’ve never
had the chance to scream them
until downwind came,
and
now
i escape their trailing consequences
through still not telling you.
out came the tide from her swollen eyes
and there i was,
hand over pride to break the surf
and i just kept telling myself
"she’ll forgive me sometime;
she’ll close her eyes sometime
and dream of someone else."
blessed
is the blind, Night-scraping
light;
for self-amused stars,
once in cackle’d shimmer,
blur drunk with Jealousy
as glances given North
ever-more fall to Earth’s domain.
i had
walked out to the car
to know the world for a few minutes.
push-laying next to old man e,
i noticed him standing at his pillow;
a look of frustration as he cocked his chin
toward every place he frequents,
looking for the biscuit i had given him
hours earlier–
he likes them
only if he has no other offer
of bacon’d treats.
in the kitchen,
his small grunt-growls ordered me
“give beggin strips.”
–yeah, i did.
had to.
