17

The single pair of headlights down an otherwise busy street,

Now made vacant by the impracticality of the hour,

All the trodding tires' scraping put instead into the violin strings of the lone car 

That now makes its way slowly up slowly closer.

All the surfaces reflect, 

Each drop of light each harmonic of incandescence, 

To think in day they do the same with a ball of flame, with photons a million years trapped within a hydrogen maze.

16

Call it dying this empty space before the dawn
Trying before the light of day
Day day day
How suddenly with just a hint of curtain
It fades away

What's now walking upon the steps
Some small creature of amorphous size
Of amorphous shape

That it doth inch
And inch by inch
Doth makes its way
Closer to its end -

What is in that choice
Is that choice different than mine?

What if:
All that does seem to guide our way
Is but made by that same impulse
That causes the creature to move forward

What if earthworms are us all
And the dictum that we do think we do control
Is but, in fact, as conscious as that subterranean mind.

15

Down and up my dear,

down and up -

all the spaces,

all the poignant spaces

the holes they are distance -

the distances,

the love,

the shared -

all the shared

swell,

with time - 

the tide of a life

the moon of death 

and the rain 

the clouds for miles 

as far as the eye can see 

Wrapped around the water, 

the horizon, 

you and me, 

 and there, 

sitting in a rock some time ago, 

now buried, 

forms some diamond chance of memory, 

and in the end these are the precious, 

these are the standards, the makings of value. 

Time, a flower blossoms, the scent of which is smelled a whole life through.

14

Bewildered and broken in some necessary way,

Pruned by the flower in your hand,

As it appears to you invisible and new and old all at once,

Some threads between these times,

Caught by a momentary

Passing wind,

To make a sound,

A harmony,

A chord.

13

In musical shoals,

The contemplator of death,

Sits swinging on the deck,

Lute in hand.

12

Daybreak in the afterlife is. Bright. 

And they walk like birds. All of them. 

I still make here; I still write. 

Though the sun and all the things I thought would make me do so are merely choices here. 

And poverty, poverty no more, and yet I do not drink I do not eat, 

I am not as you remembered think, 

remember when you played with Johnny loud, his drums cracking your ears and your guitar so fast so hard and that glow that feeling in your body of grainy power

that was me now in you then 

that is what we have become dear self

dear boy

so young 

you'll live so much longer than you think 

and you'll make so much longer than you think. 

The bell's ringing that means something.

There's a brass color, a gold to everything a tint. 

Anyway, I struggle to care, and so I am. I do not. 

So walking here is...weightless. They all walk like birds you see, like birds. 

Bide your time in body veil.

11

The feeling once inside the walls: relief of fear,

Yet even in the darkness a golden yellow yolk waits for crack of dawn,

Spaces so much larger in the mind.

10

Now I call upon You

That Your vision sent

May calm me for Your presence

Is received and not spent.

Wholly yours am I

As the world to a woman

Bound to eternal physic

Thyne body spirit woven

9

Oh what shall come

Some flavor

Bending at the waist

Of love and longing

Yearning

Lust and truth both chased

The circles they run

Are our cycle in and out,

The circles they run

Only stopped conviction doubt,

So let loose and be thyne spring

Eternal praising of the sun

Hold steady principle

Night nor day has won

So let loose and be the spring

Eternal praising of the sun

Hold steady principle

And night and day are one.

8

Call me out,

The Greater Spirit

found in the nested green

of land on edge

That place is mine

perhaps my only

there's nothing lonelier than a cliff.

7

Guiding Light

oh Guiding Light

you're with me all the way

into slow and fast beginnings

into the calm and fray

But now I call upon You

that Your vision sent

may calm me for Your presence

is received and not spent

Wholly yours am I

as the world to a woman

bound to eternal physic

Thyne body spirit woven.

6

Make thyne world about water, today, this moment, this week, this year, make thyne world about water, all the experiences one may have with water for it is said even by a rigid mind that all the world is water, all that is this world is water. What is seen, when:

Drink first from a cup of tea, prepared for you, perhaps for this occasion of ritual, for perhaps no such reason, have brought to you this cup, with the intention to pay total focus and reverence towards the experience, for then it is reverence for yourself and for the object, and then it is a metaphor see? A metaphor is a love, and so transcends any one but requires one.

Take the cup, both hands upon the sides of the vessel and close thyne eyes and imagine if you will, or perhaps listen, to the song of a flute, or if not a song, the sound of a flue, the vocal chords of the earth, slowly and like water fluidly descend upon the cup and feel how heavy the steam caresses you, how sultry it must curl, imagine the steam as this white silver, imagine it as if the size of a molecule just above your lip, see each think drop touch your skin and be absorbed, without talking you are taking in, you are being given. 

That water is much older than you can imagine, was there at the first rain, was there forever really, since the beginning of the universe, it lay in wait among stars, among the potential of our future one thousand years from now. It, and you, will be there too, then, and were together, getting together again now in the uniqueness of this current form, in the current contingencies that allow for the shaping of your matter, and you are becoming one once again, a replay of the events that preceded the explosion of the universe. 

And now return, back behind thyne eyes, and close them. Bring the cup ever closer and tilt it, and feel, the liquid silk, so similar to the consistency of stem enter you. 

The complexity of but one drop, now a million times over. 

You are becoming the water, as you have forever. 

It is given. 

Some profound truth, and for me to tell you what that truth is, is to miss the point, that it is casual, that it is not important it is vital. 

The value that holds up the world is in that truth. 

The reason we exist on whatever plane is in that truth.

5

Now I sailed, my body my vessel as it had always been, sure, but now a part of the sea. My face spread a quarter mile wide across her surface. My legs sunken and swirling in the guts of sunfish milling in the spring in the dense kelp forest. And so I return to where I was born: by way of fish, tide, and wind. Or it might be that now I am experiencing the planet as it is, as most things are moving in this way.

Then a god came to me:

"For feel thee, as thou art now in this state of non-being, and how in your disintegration you become integrated once again, but more conscious of the larger organism, the womb within which you have and always will be, for you are as much It as anything ever was and will be. There is no disintegration except in the mind, you see, no individuality except for the utter uniqueness of the mind observing the soul. To think there some holier purpose of the mind than to thirst after this, after the recognition of the parts, that thrill,to make up the soul, than noticing mindfully the parts that work within. The human does have omnition you see, in the Senses we carry and the mindfulness we can carry to those senses."

4

Feeling in your hands the heat of truth

And write now what is spoken

With as little thought as you can.

See now there is a light that cometh from a great great star

And it should be known that the star is too in the mind

For so is the universe

Which will come to be seen as the soul

The spirit 

Not in a word, but in them all

And the universe is the planet

And the planet a fig tree 

Working to grow

And without fruit still shooting forth new branches year around

To think of only thyne fruits is to neglect the workings of the natural state of growth 

To deny the extent to which we move in invisible realms is to see not the progress of the soul

But only the progress of others.

Everything inside is ultimately inside 

And everything outside may be brought in 

But there is a difference between a claimed object and a given object 

And that is the difference between truth and delusion

That is to say: the outward is always an abbreviation, 

An integration of internal parts 

It is the machine 

Perhaps in full,

One might say it is all the parts at once without meaning, 

And those objects of nature for which there are endless words 

Probe the ultimate source of natural truth

The place which is given to the being in this time,

To You.

3

Definition - Opinion

A wood of Firs,

Conifers,

and a light rain,

Written with the symbols of the bark,

like humps of m's,

and a cracking alphabet,

a story sticky with sap,

flowing slower-

The metabolism of the Evergreen,

is the Clock of this Wood,

derived from living,

It's hands are Needles,

real,

and rooted.

2

Blessed are those among men

Who carry with them the image of Our savior

for They are Him too

That we might and should hear the music of God

Amongst the prickles of the rose

and sense them in the Roots below the Tree

In the Soil unseen

for thyne lyrics and tones do render 

that which is this earth.

1

A Beautiful Chance

like a star
like a planet
like a bee

Am I ready,
ready now to become what will be after? what I am to be after?

To bring myself back,
back to the loch black the waves
gently lapping at the shores rocky Blue

Brown
Green

To become again an improvised chorus of the God
transfigured by the Music of Fate
of what has always been and never been

where scales fall away and I hear with my whole body
become but for a moment only Music:
all of me only Music and how long might that moment be

yes how long