the agenda is unclear. the
grasshopper became a soul’s mentor. surety in silence, baffled by emphases. the
temperament changes, another is alarmed, product of the essence. waxing in
understanding, losing pieces of the self, the universe is pregnant with graces.
some things are more important than they ought to be: we must decide what to
believe in.
perception depends upon accuracy,
or inaccuracy. either way, it is hard to know.
I should speak to it. I need to see
where it ends. it seems impossible to understand.
most do not fathom their girth,
depth, affectation, influence, and power.
usually one is addressed. it seems
some are just waiting. it seems some are piecemealing the universe.
maybe there is an orientation,
another table, I wonder how the powers manage each other. the head of the
table, and the tail of the table, are there stressors?
the writing is not for what is
presumed. more the worth of the message, more the unity of the arc.
the trestle is long. the concentration
is universal. many will have at the invisibility.
I try not to assume. the greatness
is the honesty, the weakness is the inner hound.
faced by realness. it’s found in
the meaning. at moments, it might stream for weeks.
to share in an experience, without
notion of its meaning, still, experiencing as the world opens.
the bolts are tightened. the cosmos
is in motion. the skies have binoculars.
