Wednesday, November 11, 2015

If but Mere Shepard were to be King, If I mere Victor, Were to Share Thing, If mere Masons were to Sing, I, myself, might laugh at your stupid joke.

It's 6:33
And my brother doesn't care if he's poet or not anymore...
Don't care if he may be kingly or ish
His thing if it is, technology and New Worlds

Don't see the thing that brings fox and love
The greed of heart which does corrupt
For true to blue his meaning and my meaning
Are but toys, to push through passing moment... BUT TO ENGAGE

To set the flight
Might see plight... in tree... fungus... light... water... strength...
..........strength...................................that curious thing...
to be flexible or rigid or relative persistence or utility or adventure or exploration or fun
There, that is the world King David wrote psalms

Here is the small flicker family would blow upon
I am the faint light drowned by daylight
Where is magic
I'm blind to it
For my life is wrapped up in seeking marriage
     When I know it will probably destroy me like trap

tHe magic is in the model and in the crown
do you meditate still?  I will show you after closed eyes
do you drink still?  I will show you in sexy after glow
do you pet still?  I will show you in contemplation
do you work still?  I will show you in satori
do you see still... I will show you in light, or feeling, or taste, touch, or smell

I liken it to feeling, that six-sense of smell in old world hotel
the cold marble and tile and aftertaste of brew pub with key in hand, knowing...
You could die a small death tonight and gotten everything you wanted
But the facts w/ belie you won't, aren't, don't, ain't going to, too, making it all the sweeter

No, you'll sit down your ass and write poem
And in writing that poem you'll juggle to kings amusement
All 1 billion kings of your soul with smile, with love
At the motion, and coordination, and force with which one flings
And catches and sends and latches and passes and stashes for second
One ball to pass back to other hand which lacks colored ball falling or passed up as...

modeled magic



collectives of small neurons somewhere very busy and very creating space and time
for us to build room for more shelter of our lives
to appreciate and explore in trying to be our best selves.

But it isn't juggling
It isn't even entertainment
It's a lot of sitting and tossing around ideas to extend metaphor while using one's expressive voice.
It is light, it is despair...
It is the bread of our lair, and but drink or maiden fair for fun and wit and for share.

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