Dreaming of the best of all possible worlds

Am I going to implode or explode?
The stations are dangling on the carrot
left broken by the Orange faced man himself.

Am I going implode or explode?
The students are scuffling through the door
screaming because they want to be boss,
there's shade being thrown
and my patience gets shot.

What suffering? What anxiety?
Our schools, our lives are just suppose to hinge
on the manifesting mode of survival,
not enrichment.
What is this shit I'm drinking?

I have a choice to envision the best
of all possible worlds.
I used to know a girl who would say,
"If there was any reality in the eleventh dimension
this plane of existence that's supposedly real, then
 this is the best option out of them all."
She was right, it's what I... amCreating have CREATED.

Am I going to implode or explode with the best of all
possible visions?
Shouldn't I try to make space and draw with pastels
the gorgeous tones that could smudge my future
into my history?
Don't I have a duty to myself to spell out the details
I know could spawn in a saucey pool of happiness?

Winter prescription

Just before seven we are up,
our bowels are crowing like the rooster at first light.
You are up first but then back to bed after the head.
I lay with swollen eyes until I peel back the sleep
to see your sparkling pearls in the crepuscular light.

My heart sends the message down the telegraph line
---Iloveyou--to the brain and then the lips.
You mirror my lips and voice and ask---areyousure?--
Iam, I mean..Iwas...should I say that? I mean...areyousure?

Prostrate with tense tendons,
my twitches in the tibia are tapping
with the moves of Fred Astaire.

I command my legs to do my brain's bidding.
They obey and shuffle my toes to the coffee grounds and water
where my fingers find the field guide for preparing
a morning purge, on the first page in BOLD---coffee, cigarettes, weed,
computer or paper and pen, sunlight, quiet,  pain, distress, or happiness and a
desire to examine your insides.

The voices from my looney tune dream
linger, fading with the growth of the eight o'clock sun
that slaps the right side of the tulip petals on the table
and my mind begins to transition:

"Melatonin replaced with Caffeine and Nicotine
causes a rapid state of alertness. Combined with the
effects of medicinal doses of Marijuana, the patient may incur
a state of lucid awareness
of one's cognitive boundaries
and emotional flaws."

I read on..
             "If the patient is female and is of child bearing age,
              estrogen, testosterone and androgen levels will
              determine the intensity to which the patient
              experiences the positive effects from this combination.
              Negative effects include; self doubt, trouble sleeping,
              dizziness, drowsiness, increased appetite right after a suppressed appetite,
and a desire to masturbate or engage in sexual activity."

The side effects didn't seem that bad
so I moved forward with the purge.
Since I was nineteen and full of angsty screams
I have been reading those directions
and the reasons seemed to evade me
until this morning when heard you
say, I'm here because I want to be.

Across the Cityscape

One night when I was fourteen and sleep walking 

I woke up and found myself staring out at the night sky.

There was a light that gleamed from the Pleiades,

the place where you and I were birthed into love,

where we first opened our eyes.

When I'm next to your side, I sense a vast history

where we've exercised our right 

to bridge peace where others would fight.

There's this place that only exists when our eyes lock tight,

one iris of yours is the key and the opposite lens

on my laugh lined face is the lock.

The door opens us up into a room 

where we can paint and draw and dance and sculpt.

I see you with a springtime smile,

spinning connections of fireflies

while I summon swimming sunfish 

to jump for your delight.

 

All of my cells, down to the neutron, are telling me 

that you and I have shared particles since 

the beginning of time, we've been responding like

morse code flashlights from windows 

across a cityscape of blinking signs.

I feel a fire in my veins that pulses with desire

for your lips and thighs, 

loving vibes and entrance to the fortress of your mind.

This elated flame surges deep in my arteries too,

causing a force of vulnerability to give myself over to you.

Rarely are we lucky enough to understand our alignment

and resist less to our own fear for long enough to find the

ones we are suppose to know.

I honor and respect you in honest thankfulness 

that our acorn we have fashioned from the earth of our heart's

is now sprouting into the oak tree seedling.

With tenderness I promise to water and feed

our divine love created by you and me.

Outloud

The movement is now underneath me like the river under my leafy skin, my veins swell with the realization:
I am now in a new canal that leads to the ocean.

I am the ocean, the river, the leaf and the sunlight. The movement is me and I am the space that creates Love.

If I see my emotions as a piece of me, I can look objectively and master my reaction.
Time seems to be in this forward dance that spins me around and laughs in my face when I attempt to grasp at it, as though I was the one who was in control. That's when I learned how to let go.

There is nothing more powerful than feeling the thumping song that your heart sings when you realize what you really need and can tell the Universe OUT LOUD.

I screamed and cried into the sky until I felt the weight of a million frogs jump from my spine,
like pouring a glass of wine to toast to a celebration, my soul lit a fire, a spark to find my heart's desire: to love and to be loved in return. To recognize what I deserve and to be open to the love from the universe.

Setting in motion the leaf, releasing my grip from the rotten tree roots, I slid down stream and turned around to release all that was behind me, to see, to navigate clearly the eddies and rocky banks battened with boulders that I should avoid

Nor my Neighbor Down the Street

While searching for the light that kills the bacteria
they found a light that reprograms the cells,
a light that rewrites the souls,
and a light that travels nowhere
except it's everywhere.

And while they were at it
they had to consider proportionate
quantum integers that existed
on the other
side of the worm hole,
-)))That swirling mass that spins faster
than the speed of any light
so quickened by madness at onehundred&eightysevenmillionmilespersecond that it traps
light and anything else in sight
in order to deconstruct, to pull a part the atoms and reconfigure,
like the mouth of Pluto
sucking our dear Persephone into the crust
into the depths of the earth itself,
the blackness was all consuming
til her mother scorched the soil with revenge
and Pluto freed her but with some leverage
to bring life back and repair the burns and then in winter she returns.
Her sacred release brings our pomegranate
lips the yearned for Spring bliss,
a well intact rite of atonement
earned in the winter drifts for those who survive it.

So do the blackholes too transform and release the 
light to some flipped compartment of space and time?
Do the particles ride through and bring light to 
another side? 
These were the questions they began to ask
as humanity looked back with a vast flabbergast,
they had exacerbated the fresh water which all life has a constant need,
the land became void of air giving trees,
all beginning with the lust for greed.
But we have not done this, you and I nor my neighbor down the street,
How can we be held responsible for changing the way we all see?
And then as though a light bulb had gone off above them,
everything clicked. Our old ways must be swallowed by generations
who detest the exploitation of the needy. The future is only foreboding if we allow for
the greedy to succeed. 
The darkness must transform the light and in this yinyang eddy
they found their peace.

Is there an Escalator?

It's been years that I've been examining the steps
retracing my motivation to a shadowy desert where the iguanas ignite at night

Balloons fall from the sky with messages of syntactic embellishments meant
to touch your cream pie white skin and encourage you to melt
into a relaxed state where you close your eyes and trust me

The sanctions that have been stated and lock-down measures that have been taken
have driven my endurance and qualify-able quest for knowledge into the necessity for tender touch
the need for entangled intimacy that can only be suppressed like a towel at the bottom of
the tattered laundry basket for so long before the mold begins to grow

each time it gets a little easier

to be quiet like a spider
and wait patiently web intact with glorious looms
ready to wrap you in a loving embrace

And it's been years that I've been examining the steps
replacing action from past mistakes

Reservation

The sun rise from the tree tops creates the illusion that there are hills and valleys
through every flooded yard, acrid field, creek and culvert.

I've been trying to reach this place in my dreams where I can see
my sister and every time I manifest a room with a door that she can walk through
we have a conversation, an action that hasn't happened in almost a year now.

I've been laying low, down in the valley, close to the banks of the Great Miami
where bodies for centuries have been tossed next to paper waste, fish eggs
and needles full of viscous plant matter seen as pleasure.

I've been sitting quietly and most nights I wait patiently
as long as my stimulation is satiated.
I have been listening to the movements of familiar mouths
and watching how my own reflection is no longer in
parallel like it was during days of dick's den and dube burgers.

I now take my connection to the next level without conscious awareness
of what I'm actually asking. I request meetings in the woods, in the
ephemeral space of music creation and on alters.