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January 27, 2009 | | Comments 1

It’s Not Easy To Move Through This

January 27, 2009

It’s not easy to move through this
because the body will not let go by itself;
the spirit within must be in-evolved.

Living green lattices holding up
a ceramic vineyard and a wooden orchard.

Wintergreen shadows and stilts I fasten on
so to visit you grandmother, in other worlds
than this one: who will telltale me the truth,
outside my own castle’s receiving of its
notice?

And if I repeat it to another, while
subconsciously adding my own flourishes,
does that mean it’s more mine or less
belonging to that first entity who disclosed it
as so?

Doesn’t my existence give an odd sort of
disclosure to both my ignorance and the
vanity of having gone far enough beyond
ignorance to be expertly ignorant of my
vanity?

I hear it, ‘the truth’, though cannot
live it right away: there’s too much
to do to reach heaven in the future.

Still, I work my way into its life living
me, so to be able to ultimately say,
‘I lived it.’ Although, it’s more ‘right’ to
state, ‘I lived through it and it through me.’

What happens to all the life-water that
passes through us? Are we hot water
heaters for spirits? Filters for some sort
of aphrodisiac?

Maybe there’s a kind of
‘Wine Cellar of Me’ and my
earthly cessation cuts the key?

No one is in charge on Earth,
save Time and the mediums
that allow its painting to stand
bow legged on a canvas eternally wet
with brawls, food provisions for
the innocent, wedding rings purchased
without asking the other’s ring size
for the sake of surprise,

And true-rugged-souls who look into
the face of the sun without squinting
and spit sideways, not out of disrespect,
but because, #1, you do not swallow
that kind of ‘juice’, and #2, you do not
spit on your horse if you want to live
beyond the meadow housing the burial
mounds of your heart…

There’s a compulsive breeze, which wiggles
and gnaws on unfinished things, phoenix-snuff
and cremation-rouge; séances between the
empty chairs and the table’s extra leaf that was
left out without its two parted halves being
pushed back together again…

So, there’s this nervousness surrounding
the constitution of the soothsayer’s orb
that some forgetful dedication will place
it in back ‘into’ the middle of the table,
where there’s no center in the darkness of
daylight’s not looking down…

We often climb inside additions,
ignoring that we used the +sign to get in.

Magic, magic, magic and hiccups… That
sort of other-worldly-paint that’s still shinning
on preschool playtime rides, the kind that were
mounted on one tall spring, a smiling caterpillar
with a saddle…

Yes, you still spit sideways with this one too.
Special sprites are assigned to school yards;
they do not patrol, or dictate to stenographers…
Their sole purpose is to collect the soul shards
that fall from both the bully and the bullied…

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  1. I hear it, ‘the truth’, though cannot
    live it right away: there’s too much
    to do to reach heaven in the future.~ nice one dear brother nice one ~ keep posting on the facebook thats how i got here.
    Sincerely Love, I am…….me/you…..

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