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

a silent story

A silent story
Waiting for...
And drawn upon.
Like a ball of yarn.
He said
He'd come
I cried
My knight as dark as night
A call
That wakes the jungle
Majestic mane
I like it
It's okay
Theres always
Tomorrow for story tome
If he's awake
We'll share a chocolate cake
And whether he or I
The dragon wake
Though spared on my account
I'll dream and so create
And then recall
And relive
For a moment...
Which one is real.
Are dreams a part of this continuum of mind?

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