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(movie star martini by edward fletcher) `The birds flew point to point as planned, But well they knew that they'd never touch land. For their wings, hard earned, that once were lightened, Now helplessly pointed to endings frightened. Below them: the lustful, the painted, the tanned, The summer, the golden, the endless, the sand. ~ `as mastery is a process and not a place where I arrive; the best part of coming of age, is leaving it behind. ~ `chip in a world beyond my conditionings, i'm truly the king of all i inherit. and knowing nothing, desire nothing either. in a brief expression of weightlessness, give and take fail to displace me: for lacking roots i make no claim on identity. ~ `2 dreams ...on the second day i was in a tavern, somewhere on the aegean coast. several old unshaven men, drinking rum concoctions, were standing at the bar. i was sitting at a corner table. i played fandangos on my blue guitar. i could smell the mediteranean, as an on-shore breeze came softly through the windows. i felt that i belonged there. ~ `chip the trip from earth to heaven and back forever imparts a terrible jet lag. yet the stops and starts on the ground, are as slow as a milk train. ~ `prospects i chisel hard to strike the vein of constancy; and with my pickaxe in my hand, dig deep my personality. sometimes i catch a glimpse of gold within the dross. occasionally i also find a diamond in the rough. but lately times are tough. mostly i come up with iron ore... and yet this strike is not as much, a bore as you'd surmise. for chains of iron as well as gold... each have stories to be told. ~ `white the steel gray morning. the aging yellow afternoon. the fragrant violet twilight. the midnight shadows on black waters. the blood red of anger. the purple shades of longing. the viscous green of envy. the squid ink of the abyss. ~ `prologue if you plan some unexpected visit of my sorrow, be kind enough to wait until the day after tomorrow. please give me twenty-four more hours, to say my prayers and plant my flowers. ~ `chip should ever i grow famous and discover that i am dying prematurely: i'll pray that when i'm resurrected, that i recall no memories of my previous life... for it would surely be a bummer, to know my lawyer's endless summer... began when he inherited! my estate. ~ `sawing wood in an hour or so i'll cut off my head, and get lost in an infinite slumber: where my conscious mind and constricting talk, as well as the sound of that ticking clock!... will be replaced by a pile of lumber, that i stack up as i unencumber myself from a life that needs flooring. in a little love boat with my dreams in tote, i'll drift down a stream to oblivion... where the mix of elements: water and earth, as well as the fiery winds of fury, will disappear, in a hurry. and never will i hear a sound, as i lay in bed gently snoring. ~ `fractions there are two kinds of people in this world: those who divide the world into two kinds of people, and those that don't. should we determine not to be seduced by these partitions; then perhaps we may elude conversions to but fractions of ourselves. ~ `chip perhaps whatever cannot be repaired, upon the current road i travel, becomes the puzzle later i unravel: further on down the road... during my last moments... in an afterlife!... throughout the following incarnation... assuming that these states are made available to me. ~ `haikus: [5`7`5 syllables] nowhere is the bride! nowhere is the groom either!! perfect zen wedding!!! in my bubble bath, frolic with my rubber duck: two pals squeaky clean. ~ `chip if i grip my tendriled past, or cling to echoes of some future calling... i find that i keep falling captive to subjective dickering. ~ `dance i concur that all of us have dark sides. it's just that some of ours encompass much more space than others. but all these shades are overshadowed by the sun. ~ `nirvana in the garden of the golden guru, a gaggle of groping gopis goggle. and gandering at the gladsome godsend, gather in his gleaming gospel. the body of the bearded buddha brings bliss to his banjo banging brothers! who balance brimming bamboo baskets bearing beautimus beads and baubles. on the sabbath, the sanguine sahib, secludes himself in his silent sanctum: a symbol to his spiritual seekers, sagacious signs of his satori. ~ `chip i am both the dweller and room, when learning to live with myself. ~ |
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