Calligraphy, Poetry



Effervescent unguents indoctrinate inordinate

Oftentimes the wonder of this all astounds with simplicity, all the

Insane elementalists exclaiming antithetical

Order conjoined by a single number divisible by zero with no

equations symbolizing the intense nature of

probabability of an errant response of an answer to all urgent, earnest

nothingness exponentially misspill please don’t

hopes of seeking a whisper of yet another question to come unbidden

cry because your revision burns and stings and

unasked, just who is it who asks? Which voice of whatever ghost

sings of the sweet loss of tomorrows yesterdays

in my mind chooses to rant about the fall of dusk and the shifting

reverberate with the acuity of torrents

of the winds of change small change at that accumulated in the dusty

of a migraine crashing vicious surf breaking

pockets of time, whisper me the smell of the hot, dry desert on an early

bad against the occipital ridges of full-frontal

summer night as the red sun sinks slow, fix me with the same green

density in absentia the heart grows fonder of this

flash of intent as the sun chooses the horizon so far out at sea in a

sweetest pastime of obfuscation and alliteration

phenomenon so rarely observed that it fosters legends. Please don’t

abbreviating the obligatory rituals of casually upended

point at the triple rainbow wishing to share your awe, or speak of the

overarching concerns cited by authorities to

Beauty of my babies. I know it is not of our base belief in our nature,

vilify there errant mongrels that bay at nights

But I wish them to be demon-free, with promise and incidence and a

silvery moon sentinel in the starlit sky filled up

Radiance peculiar to those who are god-touched. Half-cracked and a

like a bowl of argent cherries spilled out across an

Little crazed from the gentle awakening touch of his fingertip on your

ebony black tablecloth of dark matter waving final

Forehead – surely this insight will be with me always aware and answering

potentiality back to the mirror of the maker of

In the obviousness of grace. But there are days that I sleep the day away

the multiverse is speaking the sweet language

And notice not a single breath or question a single thought or thinker.

of love to you, whispering sweet everythings into

I am the multiverses in all their glories – I contain decadence and splendor

your virginal ears, fine and elegant, graced with

Enthalpy and entropy. Dry winds and leaky pens, resistant finger

cascades of diamond shooting stars streaked

prints that push the cognizant trails of ink away from my purpose

with ardent fire arcing out against the splendid

The least and most of which is to love you so greatly that I come to

sky so full of destiny and mysterious

Realize just who it is that loves. There is no why. It is all that

pathways to wildly probable destinies interwoven

There is here. Only the love of what unfolds in our divine presence

with orbits and intricacies unknown by the

What we mistake for actions and reasons in the passage of time and

hearts of those that dwell in the strict confines

Our reality streaming past the steady windows of our magnetic

of time after time entrapped by retractable beliefs

Chosen perception, our vision and chiming revisions of each and

intractable to those who choose to close

Every belief in each and every moment we think a gift in our time

any number of options gifted to our kindred.

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