skein of thoughtwith words we're weaving,this warp and that weft;a sea we're sieving,seeing what is left.this warp and that weft,a cosmic symbiosis;seeing what is left,an unrevealed gnosis.a cosmic symbiosis'tween thought and matter;an unrevealed gnosis,in quantum patterns.'tween thought and matter,a caldera of creation;in quantum patterns,re-embers to awaken.a caldera of creation,roiling quiddity;re-embers to awaken,sweet ubiquity.roiling quiddity,for never was no thing;sweet ubiquity,the threading of being.for never was no thing;a sea we're sieving.the threading of beingwith words we're weaving.
in the church of the blind the one-eyed are saintsthe multiverse before me spreads.on this vast strand of cosmic threadsmy soul now stands in joy and dread.lost and found in goddess' hands;on this vast strand my soul now stands.by ignorance i am struck dumb.i, insensate (deaf, blind and numb),must contemplate; the myst'ries plumb.as is and is not variegatei, insensate, must contemplate.
tariffsthe diff'rence betweenthe gates of heaven and hellis one of tariffs:at hell's you abandon hope,heaven wants fear and doubt too.
seeing signsthese sails are filledwith windsome wordsthe ship, though: stilled.i watch the birdswheel overhead;airborne ogham,meaning unread,is muse's locum.
pre-copernican soulEarth wobbled oncefrom her celestial pedestal,though no one living now recallsa universe that centered elsewhere.On dark nights, on certain cloudy days,we may believe it still.the soul of sciencecannot afford to ignorethe science of soul.
a draught of absinthebottled black wormwood,a sugared spoon set alight;anise wafts darkly...consciousness coalesces;night: a super-cooled liquid.
dfc 12-26: kyriellethis prayer is ever on my lipsas i subject to life's caprice,as fraying flags in war's wind whip;"Mother grant me patience and peace."as fear away all facades stripand fangs are flashed where once was fleece;as tears and blood together drip,Mother grant me patience and peace.on to the next apocolypse;this world's travails will never cease...this prayer is ever on my lips:"Mother grant me patience and peace."
the fuguebetween un- and consciousnessit seems the toll is cheap;sometimes i'm wholly dreamingbefore i'm full sleep.the train of thought i'm ridingwhen pillow meets with headsoon jumps the tracks for new stopsbetween wonder and dread.the return trip: just as odd;surreal melts into real.i'm left straddling the cuspbetween two worlds revealed.