The Revealing

I had too — once I ate all the words of the universe.
We had a delightful dinner. Just me and ? I drank
Merlot and smoked weed and we enjoyed the tapestry of
space-time.

I asked, “Do you have a voice?”

Waiting for a small time I spoke again.

“Hey! Speak”

And she did. In her female voice. The univeral voice
that is the Mother of Creation.

“I love you, dear.”

“Child of Earth,” she said, her words echoing in the depths of my soul,

“I have observed your wonder, your dreams that reach beyond the confines of your world.

I am the embodiment of the universe, and I have chosen to reveal myself to you.”

I am Celestia, the consciousness of the cosmos,” the celestial being replied, her presence enveloping this poet like a warm, comforting embrace. “I have watched over galaxies being born and stars collapsing into cosmic dust. I have witnessed the dance of planets and the birth of life on distant shores. Yet, your world, Earth, has always held a special place in my vast existence.”

This poet was captivated by Celestia’s words. “Why have you chosen to speak to me?” she asked, her voice filled with humility.

“You possess a curiosity that mirrors the essence of the universe itself,” Celestia answered, her radiant form flickering with colors beyond human comprehension. “I have chosen you to be the bridge between the cosmic wonders and the human spirit. I offer you knowledge, wisdom, and the boundless mysteries of the cosmos.”

Overwhelmed by this profound connection, this poet felt a surge of inspiration. With Celestia’s guidance, she delved into the secrets of the universe, unraveling mysteries that had perplexed humanity for centuries. Together, they explored the realms of quantum physics, traversed the event horizons of black holes, and marveled at the cosmic ballet of galaxies.

As this poet shared her newfound knowledge with the world, humanity underwent a renaissance of understanding. The barriers of ignorance were shattered, and the collective consciousness of Earth expanded to embrace the vastness of the cosmos.

In the quiet moments of the night, when the stars glittered overhead, This poet known as Maya would commune with Celestia, their conversations transcending the boundaries of time and space. Through this extraordinary connection, the wisdom of the universe flowed into the hearts and minds of humanity, guiding them toward a future where the mysteries of the cosmos were no longer beyond their grasp.

And so, the story of the female universe and the inquisitive human became a beacon of enlightenment, illuminating the path toward a greater understanding of the infinite wonders that lay beyond the skies.

:: 10.16.2023 ::


Sex Club Poetry

In my age I confess this:

Once I had a Poetry Club I created.

It was within a Strip Joint of high order.

Nothing but the most beautiful women.

I would visit on Wednesdays and go over

my poetry with those lovely women.

And I would read.

They would contemplate those words afterward.

How I miss my poetry club.

Not the sex but these lonely women.

:: 10.17.2023 ::


THEN, AS EVERYTING —

                                 LOW cumming shadow,

pushed off as a wanderer, the one off course time again
after the psyche broke the barrior of sacred heights

                                  i now, speak

of all history, the building of edificies of brillance,
how we praised our intelligence and creativity
on coastal lines, and interirors we believed invincible
Thinking within mathemtical brillaicne we would surive
all wars but never thought Nature was the greated warrior.
How we died in mud. By mile high waves and asteroids.

We once loved our intelligence but now? We should seek
nature and make amends.

:: 10.15.2023 ::


TIRED IN THE SUNRISE

What ‘if’ isn’t hesitating?  Those like us who burn in a midst of already
forgotten proclivities?  

The memory of a worm at the level of a shoe has more comprehension than
a  human brain today.  It’s a flying bird sitting upon a tree branch.  At the
level of a statue whose computer rages within a digital age of phosphorization
of Elon’s satellites.  The color of these glasses are pink in love or torrid lightning
As salt and pepper are tastes of a nutrition of alerts like napkin furniture

Historically the retreat of pastures who view a burning fire with their relentless
disinfecting tongues as swords of hate are the future — like pristine advisors
of death where retro doors are seen

I adore the reddish pillows like Koi fish which my head sleeps upon dreaming new
worlds as they cut waves with ciphered.  

I am who I am.

:: 10.12.2023 ::


GOD’S RECREATION

The egg of love is beautiful
like a first sunlight
of beautiful love

praise for this season
praise from the womb

Like creatures of nature
living and believing
is the heart of all

Tears from heaven are
pure droplets of rain
cleansing human skin

Mine is a mind of Eden
believing in Creation
God’s recreation.

:: 10.12.2023 ::


BUT NOW I K N O W G O D

Another’s dream I saw
through my eyes
when I dying-Did
that little prick
of painful life
exquisitely handed
(by angelic-puke
bile and mourning sun)
and planets dancing
stars screaming fire
and the cold breath
of empty space
inside my head a toc-tic
tic-toc sanging bleed
on some unknown stage
I have always played
upon:

Confused for a while.No
more since I ate
the thread of golden
knowledge her string
cut my mouth but now
I know GOD!

:: 12-08-2014 ::


TWO FINGERS TO PLUCK BEAUTY

SEVEN birds(flying
through a silver thought)dive:
ing i
-nto
autumn
colors
heavy
(each crying
together the
many
one
-ness)seven
spirits
trying to save
their souls
believing they’re alone
but a single mys-
tery(watches you change
| into a butterfly …
) silence.
You are the Flower.
And I say you are the One
in the soil that grows love
so alive ~ I watched you change. I plucked you up and took you home and placed you in glass and watched you die. It was Weeks while I watched
you metaphoroze into love
so alive and full of colors.
It’s like you knew me.
Like you found me.
A flower of love.

:: 10.09.2023 ::


EVERY LITTLE THING IS HER HEART

In a glass, curved as the cosmos, as Parmigianino deftly wove,
Where fingers loomed larger than thoughts, reaching for the onlooker’s soul,
And gracefully veering away, as if guarding sacred realms,
There resides a tale, woven in leaded panes and ancient beams,
Silks and fur, a coral band encircling, harmonizing,
All in a dance supporting a visage, drifting
Closer, then distant, akin to the hand’s waltz,
Yet in a serene repose. It conceals what lies within,
Held away from prying eyes. Vasari whispers, “Francesco, inspired,
Decided to capture his essence, gazing through the eye of a barber’s glass…
He crafted a wooden sphere with skillful hands,
Halving it, shaping it to the mirror’s form, and there he stood,
Meticulously replicating all the glass revealed to him,”
Mainly his own reflection, of which this portrait
Is but a reflection, twice removed.

The glass, selective, mirrored solely his essence,
Enough for his purpose: his form
Frozen, preserved, projected in a 180-degree arc.
Daylight’s caress, or shadows’ embrace,
Clings to the countenance, sustaining it
In a rhythmic dance of presence. The soul claims its space,
But how far can it voyage through the windows of the eyes
And safely return to its sanctuary? The convex curvature,
Expands the distance significantly, making the point clear—
The soul is captive, kindly treated, suspended,
Restricted from venturing beyond the boundaries
Marked by your gaze as it meets the canvas.

Pope Clement and his court stood “stupefied”
By this artistry, Vasari narrates, promising patronage
That never found fruition. The soul must linger where it belongs,
Restless, listening to raindrops tapping on the glass,
Autumn’s leaves sighing in the wind’s wild dance,
Longing for liberation, for the outdoors, yet it abides,
Frozen in this stance. It must remain
As still as the whisper of a breeze. This is the tale the portrait tells,
Yet within those eyes dwells a fusion,
Of tenderness, mirth, and sorrow, so potent
In its constraint, that gazing too long invites
A poignant realization. The truth is laid bare. The pity stings,
Ignites torrents of tears: the soul, a mere mirage,
Holds no secrets, a diminutive echo,
Perfectly filling its hollow: its sanctuary, our fleeting moment of attention.

Such is the melody, but words fail to capture it,
They are but musings in the wind.

:: 10.07.2023 ::


ASTRAL NAVIGATORS

In the boundless reaches of the cosmos, where the night sky is a canvas of infinitesimal lights, there exists a singular star system, Gaia Nova, distinguished not merely by its celestial beauty, but by the extraordinary society it harbors. At its core, this system cradles a planet teeming with life, a haven of wonders beneath the canopy of stars.

This planet is not just a sanctuary; it is the epicenter of a civilization that has harnessed the enigmatic powers of space and time. Millennia past, a select cadre of beings emerged – the Astral Navigators. Gifted with unparalleled abilities, they command the very fabric of reality, enabling them to traverse the cosmic abyss between stars and the unfathomable depths of ages.

The Astral Navigators are no mere travelers; they are the life force of their star system. Armed with their extraordinary gifts, they explore the far reaches of galaxies, map unexplored realms, and weave connections through the vast tapestry of the universe. Their talents are not just a blessing but an essentiality, for beyond the sanctuary of Gaia Nova, malevolent shadows of ancient origin lurk, coveting the secrets harbored by these navigators.

These extraordinary individuals bear the weight of their civilization on their shoulders. They are the custodians of knowledge, the bearers of hope, and the pioneers of the unknown. In their hands, space and time are pliable tools, shaping the destiny of their kind. Yet, this power exacts a toll. The strain of bending reality ages them prematurely, demanding sacrifices that transcend the comprehension of ordinary mortals.

Yet, these sacrifices are indispensable, for the star system from which they hail is dependent upon them. In the tranquil interludes between interstellar voyages, as the Astral Navigators gaze upon the twinkling stars from their homeworld, they recognize the profoundity of their purpose. They are not mere wanderers; they are the architects of destiny, crafting the fate of their civilization amidst the grand cosmic ballet.

Amidst challenges emanating from within and beyond their star system, the Astral Navigators stand resolute. Their saga, an epic of bravery, sacrifice, and limitless exploration, is etched into the very fabric of the universe. Unbeknownst to them, their most extraordinary odyssey lies ahead, one that will test the boundaries of their powers and the depths of their determination.

The universe beckons, and the Astral Navigators are poised to heed the call. They are not mere individuals; they embody the dreams, the aspirations, and the indomitable spirit of their star system to grasp the stars, regardless of the cost. In their story, the aspirations of the cosmos find voice, a testament to the ceaseless human endeavor to reach for the heavens, transcending all limitations and sacrifices.

// craft/draft — -01\


A HEART FOREVER BROKEN

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

Within this dark lonely evening I write vacant words
and the moon turns from silver to cold blue.

From tops of highest trees the predatory birds sing
as I write the saddest words of this night.

As this night like one other held within my arms
I kissed and was asked to forget by endless skies.

How depth was deeper than any other depth
that my heart dwelled and then asked to forget.

Love, the power of the sun and more I held toward her
breaking physics and eternal rules.

that she loved me sometimes but I loved forever.

so Tonight I write the saddest lines of a poem.

The feeling of night — the feeling day

both weighing heavily upon my Soul.

:: 010.07.2023 ::