Saturday, March 18, 2017


Now you know the solstice is dead, the
starry sky is fictitious, and all of this
is truly nowhere at all  -  we are in a 
dream made of vapor, awake to the
call. Let me learn you some smidgeons
of info: everything before existence was
already here. And everything gone is
not gone at all. The radius of a circle
is all that Spirit is, endlessly revolving 
back upon itself  -  spinning like a
wheel in a rainbow-cylinder of being.
That old house, white, on the far-off
hill is invaded each night by ghosts. All
the farmers of whatever county we call 
it have meetings therein  -  exchanging
complaints about how things have changed.
What else can they do, really? It's all far
outside of their realm now. The sheep's
in the meadow. The cow's in the barn.

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