Friday, May 09, 2008


A bardic return to ignorance - after a while in the woods hunting for clues to the poetic art - has left empty a scabbard-skein within, sheathing some analytical instrument which calibrates every step took as we make our way along whatever path life and love delivers us.

The nuts and bolts of language are…to paraphrase a secluded device upon which the finite balance resting hidden, staying even, remotely arranging the cross-wires fading meshed and one's connection to...

“An exterior source of four joys, whose cause is interior meaning”

...teasing itself out on the mirror within, delineating reflection/s and leading light to a singular template, armed with only the one, split to two halves; then held behind an object to replicate an infinite number spiraling back perhaps - or in a straight line; the glass tilted just so and an eye measured 'n smiling at the show of it - a shifting linguistic count of painting and picture, sifting through the invisible state.

Reality, half unreal, half a yearn for cash, and spirituality's guerdon, the recompense for effort poured into bringing before our eyes, a creative proof.

The he and she from cricket begat a cracked venture of crockery and two paths leading into neologism spun through the dream machine of sleep last night, and nights past, ever captured, in the most sensible of linguistic arithmetic experienced; dreaming just before sleep ended 'n consciousness calling; awoke wisdom of the vanishing-only trace of what remaining -- like a self made machine assembled by study and nature -- strung sophisticated and delivering keys to the divination which uncovers a core nut of knowledge, the artist of jumbled bunch letters, collapsed into a heap of meaningless phenome and verbal bites.

Whatever the rites to attainment the mind makes up, the god/s he and she (perhaps – perhaps not)

Shed empty and turned inside out
By a rational process of time

The play-pen and pal lapping around the borders of our own conundrum, puzzle of what is this 50/50, one to one ratio humanity forever builds the edifice he and she, all of us, each blade or leaf, stalk and stem, fish, fowl, plant and inanimate being, s/he the world itself a grain and globe on which animal man and woman; spool out doing whatever it is that fill our days..

Some are lucky, others less so, many, not at all, but we who are literate and can read, afford to believe our life a burden for the vastness of choice; should try and touch the hem of god/s he and she.

Move away from the diatribes of bile and distress we visit on others in print, and seek to create stability of mind, the equilibrium and neutrality of thought a specter of the other/s mind raised to face our own, asked or unwanted interplay of stranger/s (never as cut and dried as the two sides think) coincidence and the naming of God.

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