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Archive for June, 2011

my falsehood was a louse

silent chigger in the skin

it gnawed on from the inside

and I gave that to you.

transmuting dis-ease

I sat there in forgetful silence

we choose what to forget

.

I pulled away your ground.

.

made fun of perfection

toppled trees like I was shedding clothes

for someone uncaring

.

How, this possibility? paradox obscene, serene

why this love tells me

I’m here , a broken azure egg

appearing next to death

and its quiet crashing waves

.

god revere the martyr

god humming ‘bove the body

deny its form and float in all

.

feel waves

prostrate to the fields

ants run on my skin as friends

like dogs,

your fingers showing them the way and mine just getting in the way.

.

it’s not about deserving

it could have been helped but it was not

i made waste and took for granted

while icing german chocolate Cake

.

favourite Leo

burning tall grass on surround

making water for its system with words of vapour

dripping 2 mi undeserving ears.

.

Die happy

surroundin recognition

the world speaks to your greatness

with a finger placed sole to your lips.

.

Lips who found I

Lips who made I again

Lips who live on to touch Lips in dampened hours

Lips can go wherever, I keep them contained next with Myne.

.

eternally forgivable.

and myself?

.

I will not forgive myself for treating you as static.

I will not forgive myself for taking you for granted.

I will not forgive myself for lying or keeping secrets.

I will not forgive myself for fleeing when you needed me.

I will not forgive myself for muddling truth.

I will not forgive myself for seeing your actions as if they were independent of the shadows I hung over our pair.

I will not forgive myself for making you less than You Are.

I will not forgive myself for tarnishing what could have been perfection.

I will not forgive myself for selfishness.

I will not forgive myself for changing my mind.

I will not forgive myself for laying a parasite at God’s doorstep

and interrupting children’s playing

with silent cancerous mass.

I will not forgive myself

for giving you dis-ease. Rumbling and roiling your within and veiling its source.

made a man change n poured toxins in my own wounds

.

purity is invincible

love is all

light is blinding and finds every nook

it fills, easily, as water does complete

but never obscures

only peels back

and banishes mold

.

.

If I loved you again, I’d love you well. If you could see the moon in my face and strength of stomach. If you felt the stillness and you trusted

I’d love you like you ought to Live

most High

Jah, I’d let you spin and tail and take your please

I’d even quell and sit my corner

or go out to dance on wine.

I’d take hits and recommence,

pouring ocean and walking to your chest for all return.

Saddle on, but wild horses

world speak 4 galactic Good

none but your surroundings mention all the greatness

you disseminate from Health

.

Weigh I known 2 let

time siphon dis blockage

Go

go

and God will heal ur wounds by chance

paradox n paroxyms

uranus spitting fits

and at its core, the Sun

Kronos watching by eventuality

Bigness,

Blessed

.

Moon conjunct Venus conjunct Mars in Taurus conjunct Midheaven, all trine Saturn (who’d entered 2nd house). Jupiter conjunct Neptune conjunct Chiron in the 7th house, trine Sun and sextile Pluto.

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Serendipities

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Day next, we drove to lunch with Gramar, meeting her at the house that helped her raise my father and 3 other children. Opening door, house exhales collect of halved century: once family, now radio, embroidery, newspaper, and steady ticking of a clock. Gramar wants to go to a Latin American place to share a whole fish. She drives slowly but apparently and telling stories all they way.

“How has this neighborhood changed, Gramar, since you’ve lived here fifty years?”

Well, now it is Hispanic. It developed as a bedroom community to Washington DC.

“What’s a bedroom community?”

You work in the city and your house serves as a bedroom in a borough outside.

The neighborhood seems scrunched together. Houses, yards, and streets designed for 1950s culture now considered small and dilapidated by current market and public expectation. Increasingly throughout the past six decades people became convinced they need Big and More. Beaver Cleaver has changed hands. Latino and other immigrant communities can afford these falling houses, once groomed for and esteemed by the “All-American Nuclear White Family” of days gone. Gramar’s house saw alcoholism and eventual divorce at the crux of its multi-person containment.

But lately, Gramar says, She’s seen cars go up for sale and residents in eviction. Those in service of the nation’s capital (with cars and means enough for fuel for daily travel back and forth) seem to be holding it together. Meanwhile work opportunities for lower-paid immigrant communities are dwindling, to death, and further rearranging the neighborhood (not to mention the Lives of families throughout the world).

The diversity of this area (Rockville/Olney, Maryland – suburbs of Washington DC) is striking to Melanie and I. There are people gathered here of all cultures and races! Sharing space. And there is some degree of class mobility. People of all races can be seen riding the bus as well as driving cars. Segregation dominates the town we’ve made our home in: Asheville, North Carolina. The most visible and present population in Town is white. White people totally dominate crowds in restaurants and shops, to the point where non-whites in these places are Noticed and Considered. Considered Noticeable. The Latino community has developed a subtle yet strong network that lives on an entirely different plane from the world traversed by whites with enough money to spend in town. Latinos in Asheville work in dishrooms and kitchens, most frequently in Latin-American restaurants. There are jobs for Latinos on farms, in construction, and landscaping. There are jobs for Latinos in places where they have connections with other Latinos. Some don’t have a working knowledge of English. Their options for employment are extremely limited and their jobs often at risk (in case another Latino willing to work for the same pay speaks English). Many Latino immigrants in Asheville send all their earnings to family back home. They work twelve or sixteen-hour days, six days a week. They live cheaply in order to support loved ones, thus their network and presence spans laundromats, dollar stores, a Tortilleria where a pound of corn tortillas is $2.50, the state farmer’s market, a Chinese buffet restaurant (all-you-can-eat for $5.50), and an American buffet restaurant whose customers are nearly exclusively elderly folks. Friends also run into one another at Latin markets in the area as they purchase calling cards and wire money to Mexico, Puerto Rico, and elsewhere. White folks do not visit these places unless they’re elderly and without income, or they work in the service industry, or their personal income is nominal. The visible whites who dominate the workings of downtown Asheville remain ignorant to this network. The “visibles” have made this Latino network invisible. I am reminded of American mansions built in the 1800s that still stand today; many of which contain a separate, tiny stairwell for their servants. These dark and narrow stairwells lead to cramped quarters the employing family never had to see. Out of sight, out of mind.

Returning to an observation made earlier about class mobility in the DC area, I mentioned that people of all races could be seen taking public transit as well as driving personal vehicles. In Asheville, North Carolina, black riders overwhelmingly populate the central bus station and its satellite stations. Some Latino riders can be found, as well as a handful of white riders, but ultimately public transit exists to serve the black community in and around Asheville. In general, the black community cannot afford to own personal vehicles.  What jobs exist for black people in Asheville? I once had the privilege to converse with a woman on a bench during my lunch break from working a double at a restaurant downtown. This wise grandmother had grown up in Western and Central North Carolina all her eighty-odd years. She told me that when she goes out to eat, she doesn’t tip.  It’s an old adage in the restaurant world. Servers in this area contain a quiet expectation that black customers they wait on won’t leave a decent tip. It’s been proven time and time again, and I’d always chalked it up as a result of economic oppression. This woman spelled it out for me.

Back in the day, she said, black people could work in this town. They worked as washwomen and doormen and housekeepers and bakers. They worked as farmers and butlers, and there were jobs for them as waiters and waitresses in downtown restaurants. Since I have lived in Asheville in 2010 and 2011, I have only been served by two black waitresses – at a Caribbean restaurant in a small invisible corner of town where (if one looks) one can find an African drum shop, South African barber, a bail bondsman and a cultural center. The service jobs in this town are prevalent, as tourism is Asheville’s biggest industry, and while they used to go to black people in the area, now those jobs are reserved almost exclusively for an influx of young white people. Asheville’s restaurants silently cater to well-off whites and establishing a white (and vastly female) service staff is part of that equation.

Grandmother and Others, continue your economic protest. I accept a shitty tip knowing my part in gentrification of the workforce. I have seen black people work downtown today as doormen, bus drivers, convenience and grocery store cashiers, dishwashers, linecooks, cleaning people, and staff in fast food chain restaurants. Some make it as street musicians and a tiny few as artists. These are the jobs available to a sector of society that has been relegated to low-income housing, situated in out-of-the-way locations always near a bus line. Surely there are other jobs for blacks in the Asheville area? Whatever those jobs might be, they are unseen.

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The following is the first installment from Sacred Economics: Money, Gift, and Society in the Age of Transition, available from EVOLVER EDITIONS/North Atlantic Books. Visit theSacred Economics Homepage here.

 

Introduction

The purpose of this book is to make money and human economy as sacred as everything else in the universe.

Today we associate money with the profane, and for good reason. If anything is sacred in this world, it is surely not money. Money seems to be the enemy of our better instincts, as is clear every time the thought “I can’t afford to” blocks an impulse toward kindness or generosity. Money seems to be the enemy of beauty, as the disparaging term “a sellout” demonstrates. Money seems to be the enemy of every worthy social and political reform, as corporate power steers legislation toward the aggrandizement of its own profits. Money seems to be destroying the earth, as we pillage the oceans, the forests, the soil, and every species to feed a greed that knows no end.

From at least the time that Jesus threw the money changers from the temple, we have sensed that there is something unholy about money. When politicians seek money instead of the public good, we call them corrupt. Adjectives like “dirty” and “filthy” naturally describe money. Monks are supposed to have little to do with it: “You cannot serve God and Mammon.”

At the same time, no one can deny that money has a mysterious, magical quality as well, the power to alter human behavior and coordinate human activity. From ancient times thinkers have marveled at the ability of a mere mark to confer this power upon a disk of metal or slip of paper. Unfortunately, looking at the world around us, it is hard to avoid concluding that the magic of money is an evil magic.

Obviously, if we are to make money into something sacred, nothing less than a wholesale revolution in money will suffice, a transformation of its essential nature. It is not merely our attitudes about money that must change, as some self-help gurus would have us believe; rather, we will create new kinds of money that embody and reinforce changed attitudes. Sacred Economics describes this new money and the new economy that will coalesce around it. It also explores the metamorphosis in human identity that is both a cause and a result of the transformation of money. The changed attitudes of which I speak go all the way to the core of what it is to be human: they include our understanding of the purpose of life, humanity’s role on the planet, the relationship of the individual to the human and natural community; even what it is to be an individual, a self. After all, we experience money (and property) as an extension of our selves; hence the possessive pronoun “mine” to describe it, the same pronoun we use to identify our arms and heads. My money, my car, my hand, my liver. Consider as well the sense of violation we feel when we are robbed or “ripped off,” as if part of our very selves had been taken.

A transformation from profanity to sacredness in money-something so deep a part of our identity, something so central to the workings of the world-would have profound effects indeed. But what does it mean for money, or anything else for that matter, to be sacred? It is in a crucial sense the opposite of what sacred has come to mean. For several thousand years, the concepts of sacred, holy, and divine have referred increasingly to something separate from nature, the world, and the flesh. Three or four thousand years ago the gods began a migration from the lakes, forests, rivers, and mountains into the sky, becoming the imperial overlords of nature rather than its essence. As divinity separated from nature, so also it became unholy to involve oneself too deeply in the affairs of the world. The human being changed from a living embodied soul into its profane envelope, a mere receptacle of spirit, culminating in the Cartesian mote of consciousness observing the world but not participating in it, and the Newtonian watchmaker-God doing the same. To be divine was to be supernatural, nonmaterial. If God participated in the world at all, it was through miracles-divine intercessions violating or superseding nature’s laws.

Paradoxically, this separate, abstract thing called spirit is supposed to be what animates the world. Ask the religious person what changes when a person dies, and she will say the soul has left the body. Ask her who makes the rain fall and the wind blow, and she will say it is God. To be sure, Galileo and Newton appeared to have removed God from these everyday workings of the world, explaining it instead as the clockwork of a vast machine of impersonal force and mass, but even they still needed the Clockmaker to wind it up in the beginning, to imbue the universe with the potential energy that has run it ever since. This conception is still with us today as the Big Bang, a primordial event that is the source of the “negative entropy” that allows movement and life. In any case, our culture’s notion of spirit is that of something separate and nonworldly, that yet can miraculously intervene in material affairs, and that even animates and directs them in some mysterious way.

It is hugely ironic and hugely significant that the one thing on the planet most closely resembling the forgoing conception of the divine is money. It is an invisible, immortal force that surrounds and steers all things, omnipotent and limitless, an “invisible hand” that, it is said, makes the world go ’round. Yet, money today is an abstraction, at most symbols on a piece of paper but usually mere bits in a computer. It exists in a realm far removed from materiality. In that realm, it is exempt from nature’s most important laws, for it does not decay and return to the soil as all other things do, but is rather preserved, changeless, in its vaults and computer files, even growing with time thanks to interest. It bears the properties of eternal preservation and everlasting increase, both of which are profoundly unnatural. The natural substance that comes closest to these properties is gold, which does not rust, tarnish, or decay. Early on, gold was therefore used both as money and as a metaphor for the divine soul, that which is incorruptible and changeless.

Money’s divine property of abstraction, of disconnection from the real world of things, reached its extreme in the early years of the twenty-first century as the financial economy lost its mooring in the real economy and took on a life of its own. The vast fortunes of Wall Street were unconnected to any material production, seeming to exist in a separate realm.

Looking down from Olympian heights, the financiers called themselves “masters of the universe,” channeling the power of the god they served to bring fortune or ruin upon the masses, to literally move mountains, raze forests, change the course of rivers, cause the rise and fall of nations. But money soon proved to be a capricious god. As I write these words, it seems that the increasingly frantic rituals that the financial priesthood uses to placate the god Money are in vain. Like the clergy of a dying religion, they exhort their followers to greater sacrifices while blaming their misfortunes either on sin (greedy bankers, irresponsible consumers) or on the mysterious whims of God (the financial markets). But some are already blaming the priests themselves.

What we call recession, an earlier culture might have called “God abandoning the world.” Money is disappearing, and with it another property of spirit: the animating force of the human realm. At this writing, all over the world machines stand idle. Factories have ground to a halt; construction equipment sits derelict in the yard; parks and libraries are closing; and millions go homeless and hungry while housing units stand vacant and food rots in the warehouses. Yet all the human and material inputs to build the houses, distribute the food, and run the factories still exist. It is rather something immaterial, that animating spirit, which has fled. What has fled is money. That is the only thing missing, so insubstantial (in the form of electrons in computers) that it can hardly be said to exist at all, yet so powerful that without it, human productivity grinds to a halt. On the individual level as well, we can see the demotivating effects of lack of money. Consider the stereotype of the unemployed man, nearly broke, slouched in front of the TV in his undershirt, drinking a beer, hardly able to rise from his chair. Money, it seems, animates people as well as machines. Without it we are dispirited.

We do not realize that our concept of the divine has attracted to it a god that fits that concept, and given it sovereignty over the earth. By divorcing soul from flesh, spirit from matter, and God from nature, we have installed a ruling power that is soulless, alienating, ungodly, and unnatural. So when I speak of making money sacred, I am not invoking a supernatural agency to infuse sacredness into the inert, mundane objects of nature. I am rather reaching back to an earlier time, a time before the divorce of matter and spirit, when sacredness was endemic to all things.

And what is the sacred? It has two aspects: uniqueness and relatedness. A sacred object or being is one that is special, unique, one of a kind. It is therefore infinitely precious; it is irreplaceable. It has no equivalent, and thus no finite “value,” for value can only be determined by comparison. Money, like all kinds of measure, is a standard of comparison.

Unique though it is, the sacred is nonetheless inseparable from all that went into making it, from its history, and from the place it occupies in the matrix of all being. You might be thinking now that really all things and all relationships are sacred. That may be true, but though we may believe that intellectually, we don’t always feel it. Some things feel sacred to us, and some do not. Those that do, we call sacred, and their purpose is ultimately to remind us of the sacredness of all things.

Today we live in a world that has been shorn of its sacredness, so that very few things indeed give us the feeling of living in a sacred world. Mass-produced, standardized commodities, cookie-cutter houses, identical packages of food, and anonymous relationships with institutional functionaries all deny the uniqueness of the world. The distant origins of our things, the anonymity of our relationships, and the lack of visible consequences in the production and disposal of our commodities all deny relatedness. Thus we live without the experience of sacredness. Of course, of all things that deny uniqueness and relatedness, money is foremost. The very idea of a coin originated in the goal of standardization, so that each drachma, each stater, each shekel, and each yuan would be functionally identical. Moreover, as a universal and abstract medium of exchange, money is divorced from its origins, from its connection to matter. A dollar is the same dollar no matter who gave it to you. We would think someone childish to put a sum of money in the bank and withdraw it a month later only to complain, “Hey, this isn’t the same money I deposited! These bills are different!”

By default then, a monetized life is a profane life, since money and the things it buys lack the properties of the sacred. What is the difference between a supermarket tomato and one grown in my neighbor’s garden and given to me? What is different between a prefab house and one built with my own participation by someone who understands me and my life? The essential differences all arise from specific relationships that incorporate the uniqueness of giver and receiver. When life is full of such things, made with care, connected by a web of stories to people and places we know, it is a rich life, a nourishing life. Today we live under a barrage of sameness, of impersonality. Even customized products, if mass-produced, offer only a few permutations of the same standard building blocks. This sameness deadens the soul and cheapens life.

The presence of the sacred is like returning to a home that was always there and a truth that has always existed. It can happen when I observe an insect or a plant, hear a symphony of birdsongs or frog calls, feel mud between my toes, gaze upon an object beautifully made, apprehend the impossibly coordinated complexity of a cell or an ecosystem, witness a synchronicity or symbol in my life, watch happy children at play, or am touched by a work of genius. Extraordinary though these experiences are, they are in no sense separate from the rest of life. Indeed, their power comes from the glimpse they give of a realer world, a sacred world that underlies and interpenetrates our own.

What is this “home that was always there,” this “truth that has always existed”? It is the truth of the unity or the connectedness of all things, and the feeling is that of participating in something greater than oneself, yet which also is oneself. In ecology, this is the principle of interdependence: that all beings depend for their survival on the web of other beings that surrounds them, ultimately extending out to encompass the entire planet. The extinction of any species diminishes our own wholeness, our own health, our own selves; something of our very being is lost.

If the sacred is the gateway to the underlying unity of all things, it is equally a gateway to the uniqueness and specialness of each thing. A sacred object is one of a kind; it carries a unique essence that cannot be reduced to a set of generic qualities. That is why reductionist science seems to rob the world of its sacredness, since everything becomes one or another combination of a handful of generic building blocks. This conception mirrors our economic system, itself consisting mainly of standardized, generic commodities, job descriptions, processes, data, inputs and outputs, and-most generic of all-money, the ultimate abstraction. In earlier times it was not so. Tribal peoples saw each being not primarily as a member of a category, but as a unique, enspirited individual. Even rocks, clouds, and seemingly identical drops of water were thought to be sentient, unique beings. The products of the human hand were unique as well, bearing through their distinguishing irregularities the signature of the maker. Here was the link between the two qualities of the sacred, connectedness and uniqueness: unique objects retain the mark of their origin, their unique place in the great matrix of being, their dependency on the rest of creation for their existence. Standardized objects, commodities, are uniform and therefore disembedded from relationship.

In this book I will describe a vision of a money system and an economy that is sacred, that embodies the interrelatedness and the uniqueness of all things. No longer will it be separate, in fact or in perception, from the natural matrix that underlies it. It reunites the long-sundered realms of human and nature; it is an extension of ecology that obeys all of its laws and bears all of its beauty.

Within every institution of our civilization, no matter how ugly or corrupt, there is the germ of something beautiful: the same note at a higher octave. Money is no exception. Its original purpose is simply to connect human gifts with human needs, so that we might all live in greater abundance. How instead money has come to generate scarcity rather than abundance, separation rather than connection, is one of the threads of this book. Yet despite what it has become, in that original ideal of money as an agent of the gift we can catch a glimpse of what will one day make it sacred again. We recognize the exchange of gifts as a sacred occasion, which is why we instinctively make a ceremony out of gift giving. Sacred money, then, will be a medium of giving, a means to imbue the global economy with the spirit of the gift that governed tribal and village cultures, and still does today wherever people do things for each other outside the money economy.

Sacred Economics describes this future and also maps out a practical way to get there. Long ago I grew tired of reading books that criticized some aspect of our society without offering a positive alternative. Then I grew tired of books that offered a positive alternative that seemed impossible to reach: “We must reduce carbon emissions by 90 percent.” Then I grew tired of books that offered a plausible means of reaching it but did not describe what I, personally, could do to create it. Sacred Economics operates on all four levels: it offers a fundamental analysis of what has gone wrong with money; it describes a more beautiful world based on a different kind of money and economy; it explains the collective actions necessary to create that world and the means by which these actions can come about; and it explores the personal dimensions of the world-transformation, the change in identity and being that I call “living in the gift.”

A transformation of money is not a panacea for the world’s ills, nor should it take priority over other areas of activism. A mere rearrangement of bits in computers will not wipe away the very real material and social devastation afflicting our planet. Yet, neither can the healing work in any other realm achieve its potential without a corresponding transformation of money, so deeply is it woven into our social institutions and habits of life. The economic changes I describe are part of a vast, all-encompassing shift that will leave no aspect of life untouched.

Humanity is only beginning to awaken to the true magnitude of the crisis on hand. If the economic transformation I will describe seems miraculous, that is because nothing less than a miracle is needed to heal our world. In all realms, from money to ecological healing to politics to technology to medicine, we need solutions that exceed the present bounds of the possible. Fortunately, as the old world falls apart, our knowledge of what is possible expands, and with it expands our courage and our willingness to act. The present convergence of crises-in money, energy, education, health, water, soil, climate, politics, the environment, and more-is a birth crisis, expelling us from the old world into a new. Unavoidably, these crises invade our personal lives, our world falls apart, and we too are born into a new world, a new identity. This is why so many people sense a spiritual dimension to the planetary crisis, even to the economic crisis. We sense that “normal” isn’t coming back, that we are being born into a new normal: a new kind of society, a new relationship to the earth, a new experience of being human.

I dedicate all of my work to the more beautiful world our hearts tell us is possible. I say our “hearts,” because our minds sometimes tell us it is not possible. Our minds doubt that things will ever be much different from what experience has taught us. You may have felt a wave of cynicism, contempt, or despair as you read my description of a sacred economy. You might have felt an urge to dismiss my words as hopelessly idealistic. Indeed, I myself was tempted to tone down my description, to make it more plausible, more responsible, more in line with our low expectations for what life and the world can be. But such an attenuation would not have been the truth. I will, using the tools of the mind, speak what is in my heart. In my heart I know that an economy and society this beautiful are possible for us to create-and indeed that anything less than that is unworthy of us. Are we so broken that we would aspire to anything less than a sacred world?

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defining

In June I went up North to meet full Moon in Sagittarius

‘good time for travel.’

Left my home and all the concentrated growth,

entrusted care to Kronos floating sky; friend [Sebastian] with heart shaped Love for plants and animals, the harmless beings. Made him a list for appealing to pillars and counteracting spray.

I traveled with The Sun and Mars [my friend Melanie], leaving late on a Moon Day. We had our hats and our music. We had our differences n alikes. We had tenacious discrepancy and refusal on eggshells. We had our work in progress,

Life.

Relation-ship.

(it is a ship. Traveling upon water the emotional body and carrying to currents can’t define. Made for leading. One decides whether the destination follows node and jumps ifn’t.)

We Drove North.

These Carolinas dense n thick: deep green, day Lillies hanging forth. Foreign vines collapse sev’ral trees and nat’ral mystic wafts off ancient hills over pavement. This deep essential wipes itself on our windshield with skeletons of winged translucence.

“Virginia Welcomes Us” with a cardinal and reminders to buckle up. Wilderness slips away to room for wider pavement, great walls on either side of road, and pertinently trimmed open space. The sky becomes loose while flatter,

pinks n purples in lengthened streaks with the cooling of Time.

With falling miles, one woman became settled and the other felt pulled from her Work.

The Carolinas are thick with intensity. Virginia makes tame and conformity. West Virginia bends quickly over rushing history and Maryland is familiar, tempered, and spacious. All environments are changing.

Parking in the darkened space of Father’s Quality and tended driveway, sounds of the surrounding roads have increased since my childhood and moving away. The loss of trees becomes apparent: once a gentle buffer against the hollow hum of distant highway. Now, noticeable groan and bathing houses like this one in a vibration of emptiness coming akin to loss of wild Life. Something tries to replace green and brown

but never does it have much feeling.

A portrait travel partner did of I hangs to overlook my favorite room,

the Sun Room

whose floor serves such comfortable sleep when I come visit.

We came late. We Sleep.

.

Mother roused I in her pleasant way of soothe

sweet smiling wrinkles, soft words, soft hands in mI hair

her flowers, fliers, sunlight of song Surrounding glass room

on Mars morning.

.

I’d made a pie for birthdays. Peach, black raspberry, mulberry, cayenne pepper and lattice 2-butter-stick crust. Celebrating shared familial Gemini Sun: Me, Mother, Brother, Uncle, Cousin, Aunt. Melanie’s Mulberry tree transplanted itself at the far corner of my Mothers’ garden, growing sweeter fruits and making shade for meditation.  We collected blueberries off bushes that had grown Me, and alongside this house. We went to see my Gramat. We made Blueberry Buckle.

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special

Sun-Day    (citrus prior, peppermint now {to counterbalance over-fire; spicy rumble in belly and glass below, outer small left toe})

Sun Day was our day in the shower

bathing at tilted open window;

long grass tickling nostrils just beyond

n 2 bodIes

slim,

wild,

alike and tamed in softness

held as suds between surfaces +

di-vision ignore.

.

Split Sight

Merge, ConVerge (V!) 2 1

point.

.

eye still know da taper of ur thighs,

slip of ur waist

.

eye 4-get not a round of private

u offered me in sweat,

upon fake leather

which squoke and gladly bent as cooking tools beneath Co-Motion

pooling skin-diment n salt”

smelling juice which turned our thin long house to sopping

a thickness of delicious tender

music to sound

n rhythm guided bii the Gods.

.

da Coffee Always Spilling on tha floor

.

shake down   ‘

git up.

melting pots mayke liquid.

.

.

Now, a Sun Day. Illumination and rest, combine 2 reVel

Peace.   Day 4 Light

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This man took nothing from me,

No,

this man only gave.

(we dug each other’s grave)

the warm of his eye

split centers down in puzzle

and drew me in all taffy,

attaching and melting Once

is this true? Any of that divide. I hear that things exist

but what you focus on BeComes.

_

He wanted to know

so thoroughly

that we Were.

and our dance

was the braid:

incognitable weave

incontrovertible Fact

pure essense:

elusive,

illusion,

Neptune 2 Die 4.

_

did mine fruit sour

do I disappoint ?

what’s it mean when starting to false

and why don’t we control efforts alas.

_

The way you look at me with your light eye

makes me want to drive several hours to see you

and collapse into arms

soft

enlightened:

quenche.

Despite everything.

Tossing all away

but a moment,

eternal,

Pure Now-ness in flesh:

Material Just Want To Play.

material nothing ‘cept it:      Everything.

_

the shirt I wore was pink

and your eyes fell to my breasts despite succor.

It’d been by then and run-a-through

sleepless night and kilter-knock.

Heady nodes and work to that   (!)

making the same person.

As you leaned back my precious heart

nearly warmed to swell in swolling:

your sex stew there by precious curl conglomerate,

your tease a hand on hair I couldn’t have.

_

never underestimate.

_

sorry

_

always wishing you to know

Bless Is ffeel

Embrace

the perfect swimming dance;

incalculable

because of light:

made on flying

_

so many ButterFlies in June.

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