Return of Peace
The fact that I made money
By reading -- studying, interpreting, KNOWING -- art
Derives something from a knowledge that
Orchids no rights.
This transition to nonsense, to passionate play
With sound
Gives me great freedom.
I cannot say to you why I think of hell as
Death.
All you want from me is strength.
Maybe you will be strong there:
You are peaceful and beautiful --
Therefore, only you share dreams.
I am stupid: I dense.
I know your part in my life and
It is to allow my death from
Openness: the only art here is
Art wars: martyr right to like
Anger alive to its mother , woman
Calls my mother a momma.
I cannot mother my own road.
It drew war to my share of my
A tense lover more worlds
more dreams yes dreams
I dream
Dream : Jargon of my own part
Worlds don't but must answer what is a moment:
It ties me into a road.
The road is love.
I am a lance in the trouble of my rape.
The universal rape of self by existence beyond
change.
I ask here to like my answer to materialism.
A poem works epi rice as a world of birds.
The equivalency theorem is a nothing of work.
The passionate kidneys read here you guarded my troubles
And I wrote abalone darkness scum of love is pussy as night.
I belong where life gives purpose in the being of death.
Circle the goddess with beasts: She is hostile to my life
Because I sought rights that are stupidly trouble:
The right to guard my happiness with a hole.
The right to give passion stars.
I barred washing: I know it is trouble to right happiness
With fear.
The sickness art is nothing
The need goddess parse my arsonism with a loud crawl.
These words need home.
I ask for moments pussy goddess darkness Sartre dances
Harmony.
Misplaced anger.
I lewd kissing there was a moment to be :
words pile on words.
awesome.
You are loved.
Okra Bars Life Dreams Freedom
[Thanks to my mother: I am happy on this my 50th birthday]
These words mostly represent rather than stand on their own.
That is not poetry.
Sound is right. And lovely.
That's better.
I liked parts of this. The word "pussy" is not a favorite of mine. The thought "rape" as I presented it is an artifact of pain. I have blasphemed in that I have called myself into question. I no longer can do this cruelty which seems to derive from the Christian philosophies. Sounds -- the song of being -- are easier to live with and more conducive to self-respect, pleasure and laughter. Sartre got my thoughts when he answered himself with the dream of family where life comes from a dream of safety and flasks driving drama. Pain hurts. Also, openness will not kill me. Nothing about "a reader" has led me to feel cold: as I said, "misplaced anger."
ReplyDeleteInstead of "laughter" above, substitute "kindness."
ReplyDelete