The world keeps spinning—wins
with loses, gathering berries, inappropriate laughter, making light of realities.
Two toes in it,
undressing an edge, being
like Christ … falling low, an ultimate ideal, a living profanity, tapping into energies.
It became actuality, from a belief, so threaded, it never goes
silent, in silence. Made
of mire, sullen, above all, filled with faith. The world keeps spinning. The surface
is abolished. We
meet the one we chase—with
more deaths. To live in body, to have flesh, if energized, if an entity, it
lives, the garden, amidst the seas, like a man changes his views. Too much
wilderness, one large
forest, bright lights, the skies celebrating religion, and most created a
church. It was never intended.
120 years. We exist like
a curse. And granny was smiling, entering gates, dancing with Huldah; too many
deserted, asking for permission, if to touch the golden fence. Was born
again, was moving again,
humans need rejuvenation, resuscitation, resurrection. Each segment of justice.
Each
piece of a person. To
need a form of worship. It might rain today. It might thunder this morning. We
might create seduction. A person at her best, to be a person filled with
compassion, to have souls
to invest in—a decent heart, a raving hearth, many running to get into spirits.
The world
keeps spinning. Headed to
it, a diamond on a mount, jewelry in excellence, coming alive to enter, and
just my turn to celebrate—those with life, desert, water under our sunlight.
The bass of its line,
cloud-deep in unreality, the cabin floating mid-space—to believe in a person,
to give faith, to celebrate
authenticity of soul,
much more than life … we leave that alone …. In a time near to core, watching as witness,
becoming leg motion, speech, art of whispers, laughing on point, spatial,
indifferent, or attached to each gesture—a memory in soul, acting in de ja vu,
to have met time and
before—wealth of traits,
rich in spirits, animated and born again.
