My photo
:, Indonesia
I do not speak my truth to antagonize you.... I share this swollen river running -- This waterfall of faith-- because it flows from me like lennon's endless rain.... --my paper cup: this poem-- to which an endless string of words spill out and on to... I stain the sentences with abundant articulations that boil inside of me... I thirst, I starve, I crave. and all that quenches... all that can satiate me is to open the faucet and allow the words to run... They skip and dance across themselves... They formulate on their way out like fireworks deciding which way they will face when they open and sizzle in the night air... And when they do... it's a sight to behold. It shocks me like the boom, and takes me aback to see what has emerged. And Keroac knew. He knew all along... that I was one. As my words explode like spiders across the sky... I watch in staggering wonder at my truth revealed and know that I am home here. I have taken my vow... signed in blood... solemnly sworn myself in... been hazed and pinky promised... and I know... without the shadow of a doubt... that I am a mad one. ...and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

finger picking

Where have the leaves gone?
When did I become so bare...
My feet stand upon this earth, my head lost in the shifting clouds...
My heart soaring through the air above the layer of fog.
That is gradually clearing.
Fingers slide across notes written for this sky...
The sun is becoming through eye just barely open...
Head laid back...
OM's call to me.
Hot bricks.
Cold drinks.
Home is where this heart soars.
Afraid to look down.
My hands found electricity again.
I am coming back anew.
An updated version of a me I cherished in memory.
This long loop is coming full circle.
I arc around the sphere of everything.
To be.
To be aware.
Free and once again touching the throne.

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