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{ Reconciliation } by Goethe
Passion brings pain! –
Who will soothe you,
Troubled heart that has lost so, lost completely?
Where are the hours that all too swiftly flew?
In vain were you granted a sight of Beauty!
The spirit is clouded: purposes confused:
How the world’s splendour fades from our view!
But music soars aloft now on angel’s wings,
Millions of notes on notes are intertwined,
Piercing through and through all mortal being,
Eternal beauty flows now through the mind:
The eyes are dim, and filled with highest yearning,
The divine power of tears, and music’s singing.
And so the heart is eased, and once more feels
It lives and throbs, must go on throbbing,
And in pure thanks a willing offering yields,
Of self, in kind, for this so generous giving.
Then it is felt – that it might last forever! –
The double joy of love, and music’s singing.
My life is largely full of spectres
Not fully there, not fully gone
Bless those who can reach beyond themselves
To shake the infinite hand
So distant from the human condition
So distant from these ugly words
--------------------
Somewhere
over the rainbow... there are more rainbows. "When all is said and
done" is my favorite euphamism for death. "To make a long story short"
sounds like a movie adaptation. Freedom isn't free, OK, but what degree
of freedom are we talkin' 'ere? I want to know the purity of this
freedom first before I start drillin'. Familiarity breeds contempt
without distraction and drugg'ed persistence. The pen is mightier than
the sword until it comes to stabbing. In the end, there was a period.
--------------------
I
intended to write something of worth when I wrote this sentence, but a
sense of self doubt put hands at my throat. I intended to write
something of worth when worth slipped out of it's bodice and toupee,
showing me it's cold naked all-you-can-eat buffet.
I sit in bed
typing this prosetry on my "remedial phone." Jazz bass slinks out of
89.1 fm Eastern Michigan University radio/alarmed clock. A
swinging rhythm and bass dragonspiel with Coltraine and Miles. I lay
in bed and write something of worth (less -ness and more essence.)
My best friend is a tiny gray tabby- pretty lil Samsonite aka Princess
Grandpa. We lay on crimson sheets. We frequent windows. We just want
to eat and be petted at our own discretion. We intend to write no
history. We eat Dave Brubeck keys turning in a heart's peep. We keep
coming back for more... of the same... dopamine, man. Dope, I mean fly
feeling Sam I Am Because I Think I Am. I do not intend to land... man.
I will see you up top... or at the drop... and will venture out in
concentric circles. I put stock in these words mocking locking meaning
up. I put up with the downpour of drizzle intellect trying not to
mistake meat with math. I remember you in stride- keep me open, love!
--------------------
Show
me your efforts. Don't show me yr speech. Show me acts of devotion and
not just yr preach. Reach out and touch my sleeve. Gently, for
there's a heart that falls apart when u leave.
--------------------
Core life opens up to you
Only through you, ripens truth
To sweet fruit angel juice
Sewn, we, to you, all, noosed
From birth till swing dance
Keep a shuffling up-
Kissing hands
Orchards of time
Orchards of man...
--------------------
Only so much time in this linear model
Allowed each he & she
Only enough time to think great thoughts
Or borrow forever funeral garb
The gods and godesses grant yr every want
Only enough time to think great thoughts
Or nothing beautifully at all
Singing silence
No time for self imprisonment
That quiet corner time or drooling glare
No time for a tool
That will do my thinking for me
Technolgy makes distance an abstract
There be only time
For three... six... & nine...
Afterall YOU are the authority
--------------------
My pretext is context
My left shoe has gone to tie one off
My sextet is tonally textual
Yes, that is #
(Read hashtag)
"#1" is done time past swallowed up out pissed
#thetimestheyareachangin'
#nascentmisinformationage
#nospaces4ever
My pretext is context
My right shoe has left to write piss poor poems
My exigent existential etch-a-sketch
My oh my my
Tra-la tra-lee
Fetch a bye bye tree
The cradle will fall
The bough'll break
The bowels shake
Felled in a bye bye tree
Baby and all everything to be...
--------------------
Brotherhood sisterhood neighborhood stood
Together in weather like hell or high water, would
You become brother with sister and wonder? Could
Love be drew, colored true blue and still be oooh good to you?
Do you blow true blue?
Do you feel oh so you?
Nobody knows no booty
No truepenny fool
Knows how much cool
A man needs to snare a goddess glare
It's like wrestling with tenuous, serpentine air
Or wrestling a rule...
--------------------
They're building things
Gilding things
Killing things in gold
Dying folks in old rebellion
Lying thick for slick Daddy Sold!
--------------------
When it bores, it pains
To birds with wan stone
The poop is in the pudding
Eat, drink, beam eerie
I, doughnut, halve a dog in this fight
Living, let's dye
Live, it's like a box of chalk, lit
Early tube head, Earl, he tour eyes
I'll, of you all
