Invisible Love

 

love as an animal

Does this animal run through our bloodstream across broad plains too hot for the soul?

Does this animal bleed from our skin as thickly as maple from the heart of it’s mother?

OR is it only here to be used as the sweetener on a breakfast of conceptual existence?

my mouth closes around a spoon of stuff that has no logic in which to plant its sturdy birthing feet, my hands grasp at light, splaying fingertips and casting arrows, my brain competes for fertile earth in which to plant it’s seed and the neural race quickens to enhanced vision despite potential for death and entrapment in hollow eyed laughter…..

I am spewing an outrage of honey air

and imaginary nails pin me to my cushion

but still I KNOW

I am bidden to sweep this endless hall with my skirts

of invisible love

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http://www.artofkundalini.com

deeper into nothing

 

I wish to go deeper

far deeper

than the place of thick light

that beckons

beyond the soul pit of tempting confusion

through the stink of drama that ignites me and causes me to

embrace

a kind of life 

a next to life 

a nearby life

an adjacent but not quite life

in here, the worm turns over, mouth stretched

and with its vagabond tongue

strokes the kundalini snake…..

better judgement

is still a vice

and leaves a stain of rationality that

pretends to justify…

no thing

may justify even an eye flashing lie

no thing may cause

a blood soaked rag to

comfort me!

Tempting though it may be to roll in ecstasy,

to flush the mind with heart blasting fire,

to fuck the earth with every intrepid cell

no amount of plain english can dissolve this pigment

to water

and

no water is thin enough nor thick enough

to be the truth of

absolute dissolution

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Hot Tea and Toast

 

herein lies a

conceptual

emotional

winding

a woollen complexity

rough on the tongue

dry in the throat

a faux love

a preternatural writhing

a knocking on the inner skull with hammers

little god diggers

and

gold wishers

driving within to my without

taking aim

hmmm

it doesn’t take a brain surgeon

to see

that the only solution

here

is hot tea and toast

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www.artofkundalini.com

Spinning On My Windmill

 

 

my feet grip wind

pushing silver

blading through the air

and spiralling a curtain of liquid thought

a slick coating

of

perpetual motion

and now I am hanging

upside down

and the colour is dripping

my fingers touch earth

and so

I fertilise my story

and sigh deep into the depths of dark wheat

contained in this body

of  abrasive action

and

spinning light

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