well, well

is fall close to your heart?
change and pain and beauty?









pleasure salty and sweet.
i am aware that the topic could potentially be rated "r", even "x", seeing that i am writing about humans and their desires. do you know the pleasure in a pretzel covered with chocolate and on the other hand, salt? what about being warm while it's snowing on the other side of the wall? or just the right sensation between "tickle" and "itch." this is my salty versus sweet experience. you probably know it.

consider this with me. God is the music and we are eardrums. his voice sends us vibrating in sinc. heck, even his breath. most of the time his breath. his intimate breaths on us are translated into tiny frequencies with tiny crests and troughs in the waves. the crest is sweet and the trough is salty. the crest is on the brink of "tickle." and the trough on the brink of "pain." and our bodies and spirits vibrate to His sweet and salty song.

consider this. God screams. not like a man who's been shot in the arm, nor like a woman who's just been scared out of her mind, but like a man who's been shot in the arm and like a woman who's just stepped on a snake together. look at the frequency. it goes higher and lower than any human ear. our eardrums are insufficient to catch the vibrations.


i dunno just a thought.

where does Jesus come in?
you tell me.

Ol' Friend.

Autumn approaches. I am driving through town. The sky is dark and my windshield patters with one of the last summer rains. I spot the first few leaves to fall as they dance like naturals in mellow and heavy change. The feel is a fat and round hum. The Ablum Leaf skipping through the background. A roue, I feel. A roue of God and His fingers moving through my soup. The trees are luminous in the dynamic light like a maiden in the morning sun, golden locks streaming and teeming; my eyes are cloudy as my fingertips aspire to touch that leaf on the corner. Alone, I consume my dollar fifty blueberry pie ice cream in a cone, one scoop. Alone, I feel so real I could touch myself as someone else. Alone, content, silent, sacred. Vulgarity bubbling away like sulfur. At 4:44 PM, I think it was wine. At 4:45, I think is was milk. At 5:02 AM, I know it was orange juice. The cellos shave away, the crickets salt away, the leaves fall away this night on the other side of my bedroom wall.

i am mystic.

mystery is a larger net, yea.
i cant catch all of the black and white leaves.
history is a dead man's bet, yea.
bottoms up gents.
take that
take you
make that
make you
it won't happen.
the translation is alien, still
translate again.
into mystery.

edit in the middle: more .5

evil looks like your face
G-d appears to be white, to you
and the apple doesn't just fall from the tree.
it tangos. a way.
G-d appears to be sky, blue, dark.
this sheep eye sees, leaves, bereaves
paradigm
this beady eye drinks strange for breakfast, fasting from commercials
spirit looks like the body's gone topsy turvy
see: me.
see: us.




..edit: more.

there is vibrant life, blood streaming down my shins.
my hair is long.
my skin with brown crusted paint beginning to run in the water.
the river water.
i'm heaving across a river colder than most,
carrying in my arms
a dream of a woman.
dark hair deep eyes.
weak in my arms.
weak in my gaze.
and i breathe her breath.