the Barren Idea of You again

Against shame & unfair odds, I fought you while all the while you despised me, belligerent. I shuddered, shivering, would or did you care for us ? yet I knew you hated us outright, with all the tidy inattention that smelled of you, the clean & quite tidy corners Of a sacred space. With incense and lit wicks, trembling. And I fell, like a star smashing on the pavement ! …wishing oh dear Lord, that Eternity be placed, inside some ephemeral vessel! « My dear darling, up and dancing awkwardly in a very vain story, where all is fake & fakery from one level to the next witnessing endlessly the spectacle underneath God's awful scrutiny. It has no mystic use for you or me, nor does it ever consult our sweet bigotry. It vibrates longitudinally in complete and resonant discompassion across the temporal fibres wrinkling, the dead surface that insects thrive on. There is nothing bold & wonderful! Nothing worth taking to the grave to ponder till doom's day.» Pleading with all this in unkempt mind, we fight unjust battles for romantic reasons, without any favor from gods or demons or men or ghosts or those fickle titans hiding in the air we breathe, covered in hair & fur. We fight rebellious bodies, our souls twitching in the wide & silly shooting range of sickly horreurs, ... embedded in the vernacular from the start of younger years defaced with time, the pure & unnatural innocence obliterated. But now I know how forlorn it was arduously desiring to reduce you and your intangible pith into some soothing stale-mate phrase. Placing you in a tight and holesome digestable frame: to make a gruesome image of you in accordance with my disfigured light! To make of you, a static sterile thing ! An Idolatrous revery. Into a barren idea of you and your numinous secret soil. « Love is an ungrateful & abominous joy which can be unearthed from beyond the Aether. An inspired lovely brave and sometime solemn quintessential liqueur, inebriating the wakeful in the heart; longing to quit at last that idle twittle sound of murderous arrogant spleen. »

dent pour dent & le prix du sang des innocents chez Talion au pays du Levant

 

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Elated like a Famished Lion

Elated underneath the tide. The sands have buried him. Again & again with misdemeanors filling the corridors of past lives on the salty brink.

Watchful like a hungry lion waiting for his prey. Awaiting that especial instant of satisfied disfamishment!

How happy is the man, invisible to the mob. Intangible. & PERMANENT in the Halls of Lucid Being.

Happy as be. 

Like a grasshopper in a cornfield! Or

a Gypsy dancing in an empty lot:

Heel Toe Toe, Toe Heel Toe! Handalé hijo mio!

I see Dante & those like him, lamenting their conceited literary paginations.

He and the others like a door knob, stuck in the mud of intellectual devices!

Virgil in a quagmire of poetical deceit, chained unto the very Catholic Inferno

  of another man's selfish political fantasy. 

Ficino 

  with Ezra in my abuela's backyard, meditating on what lie they can tell next!

To that very self with no escape, looking for pandering in a an iron cage.

Houei-Neng chanting in the fog. Him riding a Suzuki in L.A. smog.

His Bouddha Nature clinging to his smiley face in the Chili Pepper Wind.

  "...to La Crescenta with Saint Francis, on Wilshire Boulevard, oh! I mean to Disneyland with Phillip Dick to Anaheim."

But wait, just a minute, the Bodhi tree's not at JPL.

Nor neither at Eiffel Tower with Grandma Bigelow!

The sands have buried it, beneath the sand!

...from Van Nuys to Long Beach, stinking of oily things

and leaky gas pipes. Brother Mark at Saint Francis High School still a faggot, whoops!

Till then

We're waiting for the end of Kalpa & the next Stupa 

, and the long awaited tulku possession in the next innocent baby birth!

No-Mind on the horizon, no mirror to collect the dust.