stream

It's been an awful long while since I put pen to page
for the sake of putting pen to page
and it's not about thoughts,
but more of an inclination being inner-directed by that thing that flows through when the monkey-mind takes a vacation and leaves an opening to a higher purpose,
consciousness minus all the riff-raff of the hum-drum
and all the dumb dumb of the mind-numb
because the world is a bit-thumb
and I'm a chipped tooth
looking for a sensory deprivation experience through extra-sensory overload
and if you want to feel something real then I suggest you pass the test and move on to a new creation
in which all parties participate in an elocution-execution of
extra-terrestrial proportions and
if the vocational training of body and mind does not deign it appropriate to let spirit join in
then the cosmic joke is inward-directed and
we're all left wondering what happened to the
piece-meal-meal-ticket and sent searching for a
sensory migration to more hospitable climactic degradation because
me plus you equals everything and nothing and the space in-between and
I'm teeming with more reason as moments blend together like a seamstress hard at work,
stitching reality like there's no tomorrow,
because there is no tomorrow
and I don't really exist (outside of my own imagination).
How do you imagine me?
Are we dreaming,
or am I screaming because my self-electrocution is a painful evolution from old into new and animal into spiritual dimension where vibration is key and density is relative to the angle of attack. Examination depends on the sensitivity of sights unseen
in a world unclaimed
by a higher purpose.
A brightness is un-consiously half-felt beneath the demons in our collective chest--
Demons who fight to break surface and bathe their faces in the light of day,
to be revealed as shadow elements, play-pals banished to a corner for misbehavior deemed unsightly one day and self-defining the next.