inbloom
03-23-2006, 07:04 PM
seperation on a solar level, cast across the afternoon blue. the sky is not
the sun's canvas, but rather it's looking glass. only the moon lives there.
through this radiation telescope we are the pinpoint, the target. in the
western sky we are the weapon. in the maroon dusk of the 19th hour, spreading
wings, changing form.
waking in the dew bed of 8 AM, i will breathe light and slow, drop late sleep,
& think of all lost in furious instinct. this crow feather brought a message,
reflecting symbolisms, am i supposed to fly away? dances and mantras, and
buddha's recycled breath.
in the dead space of later day, i smoke, speaking softly with friends and peers.
i drift along your words, leaf like, in the wind, painting such pictures. green
grass smoke signals lift us to cloud level, bringing about meditation eyelids.
good things shared amongst old friends, kept close. we were just living, just
playing, making shadows in afternoon light.
winding down in ceremonial waters at day's end, deep sleep is imminent. still
always wishing, thinking something was missing. drowning out sounds, thoughts,
vibrations, sinking deeper inwards. trying to, anyway. maybe later days will
reveal what these hours couldn't...or not. on some level, always looking,
always searching, flying pourous skies of awareness.
the sun's canvas, but rather it's looking glass. only the moon lives there.
through this radiation telescope we are the pinpoint, the target. in the
western sky we are the weapon. in the maroon dusk of the 19th hour, spreading
wings, changing form.
waking in the dew bed of 8 AM, i will breathe light and slow, drop late sleep,
& think of all lost in furious instinct. this crow feather brought a message,
reflecting symbolisms, am i supposed to fly away? dances and mantras, and
buddha's recycled breath.
in the dead space of later day, i smoke, speaking softly with friends and peers.
i drift along your words, leaf like, in the wind, painting such pictures. green
grass smoke signals lift us to cloud level, bringing about meditation eyelids.
good things shared amongst old friends, kept close. we were just living, just
playing, making shadows in afternoon light.
winding down in ceremonial waters at day's end, deep sleep is imminent. still
always wishing, thinking something was missing. drowning out sounds, thoughts,
vibrations, sinking deeper inwards. trying to, anyway. maybe later days will
reveal what these hours couldn't...or not. on some level, always looking,
always searching, flying pourous skies of awareness.