The alternate reality
Of a penny arcade..
Will it arise that
All realities including
What has been known
As the true one..are all
Alternate spinnings of
Stories which in their
Words and mapping
Seem to claim their
Grasp of imagination...
th'oughts...such as
if's and's or maybe's
are the...yes/no's bull
buts that fertilize growth
in/of...concepts soil
gardens in/from which
realities grow...as internal
reflections within the temporary spinnings
of...times space-current eddy-effects
of the unseen natural 'mechanics' of cause
that is known to us only as the...probability
of change consistency with respect our blindness
to that potential...of/for a/some
commonality to/between all differences
stan sand
my logic in a tartan knapsack of my
scientific mind,
i searched until i found who
was who, looking for the
essence that is me
behind the pontifications of the
ego that would be mine
i traveled every well-known path
worn and frayed around the edges
until i was smooth as a
stone in the river of my being,
i trudged the meanings of what it means
to be until
i was immersed with every shade of green
in the constancy of an open heart
echoing pineapple winds of change
i thought love had died with God, the world
was so real with these divisions of humanity
that kill the soft-eyed child inside
and so i wandered within the silent room of awe
bestowed in resurrections and awakening
how on earth does Spring come forever
when i must die
in these passages through?
in these spinnings
balancing
my mind
ascending in awareness
but for the grace,
but for this magnificent obsession
unfolding this moment now here
all is déjà vu
all is my poem of how i came to be.
Writing seems pointless when no one is listening
The cares of the world seem trivial
Money, fame, recognition fruitless blossoms of a dead tree
The earth spins as if it had a purpose
While the pointless spinnings of an old woman's yarns make perfect sense
I find caring leaving as though it was only a temporary tenant in my minds ghetto
I'm running through the forest of my deepest, darkest feelings
If love knows no bounds then the bank account full or empty would not change a thing
My pen fails to capture the true me as I leave my mind to be looked after by a temporary
absence of thought
Butterfly enclosed
By its spinnings emerges
Once seen as a worm
Steel Silk and Thunder
You ask me to condense this time, you say –
You ask how well I can squeeze and squander all
This day.
These thoughts are days and weeks full with moments
Stretched across the sky.
Yes,
I see this all too clearly, how your will is brought
About.
How unrelenting love can be; it drives the eyes
To see such fury – such wondrous spinnings in
The void; all one seeks chases now in folly;
This word appears again: Folly.
For foolish is the cover source of eye to shield.
All simple bleak remorse and cannon content
Bleeds within; a sleek sliver of truth confines me this
Moment; this baleful, primordial day’s mourning;
Oh, God I have loved thee so, I see you in the
Trees and skies, yet all slips through my hands
In measure; all is lost in fleeting pleasure – in
Movement, in matter of fuss and confusion; in
All I see amid horizons forming nothing, but
This must be as it is this day –
I accept your dimly wrought decision.
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