Written June 14 & 15, 2012

Inferno of a supernova

Second, answer, me, in your head,
First I ask permission:
may I be your sexy brain surgeon,
cutting out your stress with
phrases sharper than obsidian;
subjecting deconstructive thought
to a simple sudden jettison?

Enlightenment is
our only remaining
dark red drop sphere
of liquid medicine,
in zero gravity
tacked to the tip of a sewing needle.

It quivers with my diaphragm
suspended by my patient hand,
reflecting inframaroon photons out,
and taking most other waves deep within.

My grasped tipped needle
waits half a lifetime
for your flower to open,
made beautiful, and fearful
by the millions of times
this process has failed,

suspended,
in space and time in a moment
which briefly becomes infinite,
we calmly breathe,
over open ocean
on a tightrope,
above the drowning masses;
entropy’s cold eternal embrace
a causal fabricfold away.

For the success of this action,
the time of day must be just right,
ambient conditions approaching perfection,
brain waves harmonizing with
the hypercomplex frequencies
of the largest known vacuum
as your pedals cautiously gape,
in this moment more fully
than they ever have or will again.

These words are the quivering dark red sphere,
contents constantly in free vibratious motion,
macromolecules darting,
making miniature performance art, and
upon the appearance
of the moment in which
the lotus
of your consciousness
is at its openest,
the deepest pose,
the loudest causal opus,
I slowly move the needle inward,
a sharp rigid butterfly tongue
docking in the depth of outer space;
taking care not to ruin the act
by letting the sphere’s surface tension break
on any petal, stamen or
finest floral hair;

Please enclose your deepest Self
around the following
dark
red
liquid
sphere,
as the needle slips harmlessly out
of your now quickly closing lotusflower -

Our minds aren’t cups to be filled and then drained;
they are fires which burn despite the pouring of the rain.

matches, lighters, candles, incense,
camp, bon, forest – fire
a violent pit of volcano spit,
nuclear rods, blowtorches, tsar bomba,
beating solar hearts,
inferno of a supernova,
singularity,
a deathless departure from our conscious world,
makes a super, massive, trueblack, hole…

…hidden within the perfect aperture
of our sacred musculature.

less than 10% of human brains
are consciously used, so
please God by
constantly
thinking about everything
subconsciously.

All the poetry of this point in space and time
is only that created by your guided mind =
universe = mind = universe = mind =

our emotion is a fire
love, knowledge, sympathy, trust,
passion, excitement, empathy, lust,
let’s throw some logs on and warm up
our chilled bones of eternity.

Picture your hand writing on a bathroom wall -
‘tis better to burn than nothing at all.

—

 

other cool word-arrangements authored by myself, offered up for your free viewing pleasure on the web pages:

Stillness

Artist Propaganda

The Fallen