9303. MY TEAGUE MAIAE

MY TEAGUE MAIAE

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.