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An uncut stone

An uncut stone;
eyes evaluate depths
and cuts,
some to reflect
others to refract.
Finished sparkler
is not an exercise
in perfection
but perception.
Reduced from infinitesimal
to ceremonial
countable angles.

Climbing Trees

Twisty toes, stretched out fingers,
somehow there's always a speck
in the eyes.
Leaves often brush the face.
At the top is where I rest,
absolutely none looks up,
they scurry past.
I hear them speak,
words in nothingness to me.
My perch, my throne,
I rule all the delusions
I own, my ghost pals
sit by me. We exchange
a telepathic banter.
It would be disease but they
are friendlies.
I keep them to me
they to me.
When one is missing,
I look for clues
how to get it back.
Was it something I said,
did? I don't want any of them
bumped off.
It’s easier with them
by me.

Divinity & associates

Prompted by:- Venus and Adonis by Joseph Turner

Cherubs in the tree,
glee,
visible and implied.

Mighty trunks lend a back bone
and they cradle
in offered sight, proffered vision.

There is physical abandon above
the roots.

This letting go in
awareness of conversant selves.

The brutes, the force,
jarring as a foot note
demeans.
For them to exist it must be a
protectorate.

The viewer,
as he or she views
must be cloaked,
else the candor is misplaced
or worse, propped.

The fizz under my cloak
sizzles.

I want to loot and pillage,

Girlchild and the lure of the marsupial sac

Teach the girl child of
immaculate conceptions.

Restricting pains to
birthing.

Avoiding the hoopla,
emotional strain, the push
and pulls of the matrons'
yore.

Teach her to be a catcher
of the windborne.

Her clock insists on putting
little ones on my knee.
Prepared for travails
this child's young
firmament.

My mind shrieks.

Lift her heart to her head,
subvert the purposeless
bulls' glares.

Slip her an alternate
reality; simplified bollocks
in sacs a convenient
low hanging fruit.
Easy picking for the
marsupial sac, her lap.

In water on my back

In water on my back
weightless already.
Sight explores a medium
body immersed in another

I know I will stand up,
shedding be a
sensation.

Neither did the water bind
nor will air be a stickler.

It's me in swirls
stepping in and
stepping out.

Vertical,
horizontal and
all the skeletal contortions
in between.

Stormed away

There's growth while wind
blown.
Sails, flippers / floppers,
something is always
sproutin',
navigational aids.

Weeds fall off and
raindrops touch the skin
again.
Altitude reshapes the
sensation,
cyclic freshening.

Choices

Choices are vacillations,
standing still in vibrations.
Nerve end titillation to
no gain.
Attempt tangible emotes
as floats.
Tether severing done,
frequency abating in time
calm is preserved.

Conversation 101

It is another on the outside
rarely speak your mind.
More often say something
that seems a push forward,
even then
question all you say.
No commonality, no modality,
perhaps percolate self with words.

Fire-eater

Fire-breather and in the last breath
fire-eater.
Transformation could be
fuel to exhaust. 
But the 'now' of that moment, 
fire.

A Fire-breather spins the 'now', 
the appraiser sees not him but
the searing flame
mated at his lips. 
Self aware the breather wanted 
the 'now' claimed for him.

Instead of breathing out he sucked it in.
The exhaust, the ash so well contained
in the swelled breast. 

All gathered in awe of his set resolve, 
his face, eyes and stance. 

Fire-breather in present consciousnesses
embedded &  transformed, 
fire-eater.

Lights in the fog

Lights in the early morning fog, 
antenna to proximity of souls. 
Selfsame I try every night to shut-eye out, 
ward them all off. 

As it lifts they will be thrust
in my face again. 

Look for choices, 
avoidance somehow. 

Sandpaper won't rub them off, 
encroach they will on
personal space. 

I cast too wide, where I sit me down. 
No desire to be people
in people's minds. 
I plead, keep me out, 
distant. 
Not in any thought. 

They are on the roads they build. 
Scurrying about the jobs they create. 
Stirring in the homes they make 

Defying any stillness. 

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