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SpaceTime and myself collaborated to produce this song. Serious attention to the initial child reared by an earthly process and the procedural error of spacetime to astral project, to cosmological minimization whereby utility of the language of PS somatic hybrids of words in the structure linguistically representational and deductible from exegetical heuristic causistry of the intrue plot certainty of beings that frame other Uni
Refracting lights in the hour glass behind vision
Chaotic movements of the body amid its reflections
The light again in so many partial births through out
With no one law of motion to declare what it's about.
Tongue half, and half a flower, then a stout,
See through that latter half in lateness,
So much for order to the strain of playfulness.
Interiors of our lives, the only blossom a spray of hydrangeas
It beckons from inside, from inside
It sidles to the doorstep of being, to hang drop gentle pedal,
The visions themselves of creative amorphous beginning,
Taking up with, the reflections of re-assemblage,
These pure manifestations of the process of reasoning.
Human, drag yourself out of the mud,
Human, flag yourself down by the road-side lights,
The pure creative flower of your opening
That up which around you, you are in your transformation.
Your chaotic origins in the synchronicity of thought
As passages of your subjectivity,
As passage of your mildness and meal,
The requisite parish of your interest in yourself
Which blossoms into dream like chrysanthemum,
In the head of the aster, blackens into pointed coals
Of internal flame.
Growing up into the face of the light source
Which reflects and plays off the surfaces of life
While some of life comes in in pairs.
Watching you the watching of you in one's love for one's
Love of one, refractions of the chaotic surface of the same
Splintering into guiding beings, like Christ or Buddah.
The cracked drink-hub carried across throttled deserts,
Where wind stops at the brink of creativity,
If given the right voice, that of the poet.
If jaw-bone waivers with the light inward of self, what of that, It is divined inspired, creative utterance.
Prelude of the self in traditions of its formal contrivance,
It shades the girlish charm of a wizened morning projection
Of the sun, sometimes referred to as the aster.
Had one fear of such amorphousness until naught
Strove in the pattern with one's reflection,
The waves of heat above the pond in which stood one's reflection.
Rippling with that which wove the frame of reference
In which there was self hood in secondarily
That self bloomed in the rhythmic interference of its fringes,
The poem in which that was brought to light.
In the face of a desert wind, utterance to thrust a hand
Towards energy, it propels one on,
It interjects the pen, it retorts the lyrical wantonness of prelude.
In winds of chafe, then exposure, the isle of exposed internal tendency all alight
And the beacon of a chalice which hummed with air's passage, like a boat's horn,
Tolled the bourgeoning interior, the wakefulness to autumn's naught, yes,
But the fragrance of a trans-temporal plant like the surface of one's lost leaf,
The interior all withstood of those reasoned negotiations,
It swung open a gate of creativity in the vortex of one's entreating the wind oneself,
As something less than solid, an earthen dryness in the chasm,
That of metaphor, in place of plain speech the gentle fragrance of becoming.
To thwart the stink of reconfiguration amid destitution and of destitute reasons-
For-being, like the sight of chaos as its traces of name may scatter amid
Dented volumes unopened, where the swinging ones emerge with a guidance,
The guide, the beloved husbandry of a winged spirit in the eve of revelation.
That interiority of its mantle, the bud, and subsequent, interest of one's face,
As blossom, jaw falling with awe. Jaw fallen with the souls of the guider's
Complicity. It stings one like sweat of the day in which sight grooms one,
As it is wont to.
It listlessly graces one's interior workings to appraise the chord and mixture,
The verse extends into a broadness of feeling which it has for rhetoric.
The lace of a day's worth of scent which one awaits an evening
Of one's own sweat where to absorb it is one's focused longing in
Late hours of dis-abilitude and longing for the internal being
Where what one wants is a fixate interval of the energy in
A sun-shielding hand which covers what one occupies.
That is why,
In love, all is grief and bones of chickens, along which teeth
Run in the cold uncommon to the grease of pink-fingered dawn, lay out, bemoaned
By a fervid evening in love in which the acquaintance is of chaos at that pique
Of the interpersonal sense in which one even is at that point
For which at any rate
The language dries of one's wind tunnel in that fixture,
There is the most earthen alcaloid in all of brain chemistry,
The one which is most terrestrial of any astronomy known or unknown,
As the posture of a ghostly planet can for certain guard the temporal.
There is the precedence of sight, it is rather the elipsis in self-creative
Interlude when one takes on the energetic probabilities...
...Which darken into fear, interior of one's losses, that alone one
Suffers the onslaught of the sun's belly-up tergiversate intellect.
Where it guides, in Guinea or else-wise the light-being arises,
Torn holes off where of living guardian in the flesh who move
Amid his legion, as beings of light themselves are named
Of no internal step in its reasoning, in actuality
Light adorns the essence of the apostasies that are
Wholesomeness in one's expression of longing,
For one would die without one,
That floral companion of a late-evening appeal of the brow
To tighten in one's arms, a thought might protect it's communist platform,
Or it's social impetus in material reality, for that degree of metaphor
Is negligible to the sound of its issue-forth whom is ubiquitous Internally, and bloomed fully of that issue: touch.
It spirited off in haste around the sight of unity, dualism
It hinted for in the outcome of the wind and one's metaphoric pregnancy
Hung fat with child are the caldrons of awaking and chaos from the other
And parentally triad, its nature, thus a blindness that is origin of antithesis
So much so by chance or fate, the ratio it yields
So much that it stands to rend
So much from the direction sunward of a stalk
Yielding before it the guidance of the word,
God's son, who crept In shielded proclivity from deluge on towards judgment day.
Prayer in her heart who awaits my return, it is not known otherwise than
As repair, backward turning emotion, or as withstanding, henceforth
Nowise of that ripening one-sided energy an ability of the lover
Whom one awaits.
Working in changes of tense amid the grammatical precision of a subject clause
That oneself is in chaotic thrown in question-ness for otherwise it is elementary
To call oneself aged in the moment of birth, but such sun's of the interior,
Are the dayspring of God's will and well-being.
Yield the revelations of Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John.
It is a magnetic un-relinquishment of the taxidermy in which teeth break
With the hum of the proverbial tunnel, that renders interiority its fast
In the spirit of desert prophets, in the spirit of the frog who elates with
The sound of its own stifled limbs, in otherness, liken to the life of
Amphibian stigma alone, that passionate of interiors,
To christen inside of one's church the chastity of embrace.
Magnetically chaos hangs together with the lost soul,
Magnus rule decides the proliferation of the voice towards corners like tradition,
The point subsides but where it aligns itself, Orobyrus,
Like utterance the reflection from off a dried leaf of waxen meal like necessity
It takes its pattern from there and winds up within itself, observed like the line
Of verse, to the tendency of need.
It can be written to the tendency of many different energies,
Roaming for home...
...Fearing God
In person to fear and to withhold, that which is learning for one, is often
That which reverses the vision upon one's wishing it so, reverses
The vision upon one's most nearness to vision of mental
Reflection, that point called to stop at nothing.
Thus render one's self to one's beloved, and be one's own guarantee of success,
Like the thing itself, fall of petal onto one's place of rest,
Interior as a tongue is to the jaw, vibe along
The surface of pointillist render, where in between,
Of that artistry, deify one's ancestry.
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Text
Refracting lights in the hour glass behind vision
Chaotic movements of the body amid its reflections
The light again in so many partial births through out
With no one law of motion to declare what it's about.
Tongue half, and half a flower, then a stout,
See through that latter half in lateness,
So much for order to the strain of playfulness.
Interiors of our lives, the only blossom a spray of hydrangeas
It beckons from inside, from inside
It sidles to the doorstep of being, to hang drop gentle pedal,
The visions themselves of creative amorphous beginning,
Taking up with, the reflections of re-assemblage,
These pure manifestations of the process of reasoning.
Human, drag yourself out of the mud,
Human, flag yourself down by the road-side lights,
The pure creative flower of your opening
That up which around you, you are in your transformation.
Your chaotic origins in the synchronicity of thought
As passages of your subjectivity,
As passage of your mildness and meal,
The requisite parish of your interest in yourself
Which blossoms into dream like chrysanthemum,
In the head of the aster, blackens into pointed coals
Of internal flame.
Growing up into the face of the light source
Which reflects and plays off the surfaces of life
While some of life comes in in pairs.
Watching you the watching of you in one's love for one's
Love of one, refractions of the chaotic surface of the same
Splintering into guiding beings, like Christ or Buddah.
The cracked drink-hub carried across throttled deserts,
Where wind stops at the brink of creativity,
If given the right voice, that of the poet.
If jaw-bone waivers with the light inward of self, what of that, It is divined inspired, creative utterance.
Prelude of the self in traditions of its formal contrivance,
It shades the girlish charm of a wizened morning projection
Of the sun, sometimes referred to as the aster.
Had one fear of such amorphousness until naught
Strove in the pattern with one's reflection,
The waves of heat above the pond in which stood one's reflection.
Rippling with that which wove the frame of reference
In which there was self hood in secondarily
That self bloomed in the rhythmic interference of its fringes,
The poem in which that was brought to light.
In the face of a desert wind, utterance to thrust a hand
Towards energy, it propels one on,
It interjects the pen, it retorts the lyrical wantonness of prelude.
In winds of chafe, then exposure, the isle of exposed internal tendency all alight
And the beacon of a chalice which hummed with air's passage, like a boat's horn,
Tolled the bourgeoning interior, the wakefulness to autumn's naught, yes,
But the fragrance of a trans-temporal plant like the surface of one's lost leaf,
The interior all withstood of those reasoned negotiations,
It swung open a gate of creativity in the vortex of one's entreating the wind oneself,
As something less than solid, an earthen dryness in the chasm,
That of metaphor, in place of plain speech the gentle fragrance of becoming.
To thwart the stink of reconfiguration amid destitution and of destitute reasons-
For-being, like the sight of chaos as its traces of name may scatter amid
Dented volumes unopened, where the swinging ones emerge with a guidance,
The guide, the beloved husbandry of a winged spirit in the eve of revelation.
That interiority of its mantle, the bud, and subsequent, interest of one's face,
As blossom, jaw falling with awe. Jaw fallen with the souls of the guider's
Complicity. It stings one like sweat of the day in which sight grooms one,
As it is wont to.
It listlessly graces one's interior workings to appraise the chord and mixture,
The verse extends into a broadness of feeling which it has for rhetoric.
The lace of a day's worth of scent which one awaits an evening
Of one's own sweat where to absorb it is one's focused longing in
Late hours of dis-abilitude and longing for the internal being
Where what one wants is a fixate interval of the energy in
A sun-shielding hand which covers what one occupies.
That is why,
In love, all is grief and bones of chickens, along which teeth
Run in the cold uncommon to the grease of pink-fingered dawn, lay out, bemoaned
By a fervid evening in love in which the acquaintance is of chaos at that pique
Of the interpersonal sense in which one even is at that point
For which at any rate
The language dries of one's wind tunnel in that fixture,
There is the most earthen alcaloid in all of brain chemistry,
The one which is most terrestrial of any astronomy known or unknown,
As the posture of a ghostly planet can for certain guard the temporal.
There is the precedence of sight, it is rather the elipsis in self-creative
Interlude when one takes on the energetic probabilities...
...Which darken into fear, interior of one's losses, that alone one
Suffers the onslaught of the sun's belly-up tergiversate intellect.
Where it guides, in Guinea or else-wise the light-being arises,
Torn holes off where of living guardian in the flesh who move
Amid his legion, as beings of light themselves are named
Of no internal step in its reasoning, in actuality
Light adorns the essence of the apostasies that are
Wholesomeness in one's expression of longing,
For one would die without one,
That floral companion of a late-evening appeal of the brow
To tighten in one's arms, a thought might protect it's communist platform,
Or it's social impetus in material reality, for that degree of metaphor
Is negligible to the sound of its issue-forth whom is ubiquitous Internally, and bloomed fully of that issue: touch.
It spirited off in haste around the sight of unity, dualism
It hinted for in the outcome of the wind and one's metaphoric pregnancy
Hung fat with child are the caldrons of awaking and chaos from the other
And parentally triad, its nature, thus a blindness that is origin of antithesis
So much so by chance or fate, the ratio it yields
So much that it stands to rend
So much from the direction sunward of a stalk
Yielding before it the guidance of the word,
God's son, who crept In shielded proclivity from deluge on towards judgment day.
Prayer in her heart who awaits my return, it is not known otherwise than
As repair, backward turning emotion, or as withstanding, henceforth
Nowise of that ripening one-sided energy an ability of the lover
Whom one awaits.
Working in changes of tense amid the grammatical precision of a subject clause
That oneself is in chaotic thrown in question-ness for otherwise it is elementary
To call oneself aged in the moment of birth, but such sun's of the interior,
Are the dayspring of God's will and well-being.
Yield the revelations of Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John.
It is a magnetic un-relinquishment of the taxidermy in which teeth break
With the hum of the proverbial tunnel, that renders interiority its fast
In the spirit of desert prophets, in the spirit of the frog who elates with
The sound of its own stifled limbs, in otherness, liken to the life of
Amphibian stigma alone, that passionate of interiors,
To christen inside of one's church the chastity of embrace.
Magnetically chaos hangs together with the lost soul,
Magnus rule decides the proliferation of the voice towards corners like tradition,
The point subsides but where it aligns itself, Orobyrus,
Like utterance the reflection from off a dried leaf of waxen meal like necessity
It takes its pattern from there and winds up within itself, observed like the line
Of verse, to the tendency of need.
It can be written to the tendency of many different energies,
Roaming for home...
...Fearing God
In person to fear and to withhold, that which is learning for one, is often
That which reverses the vision upon one's wishing it so, reverses
The vision upon one's most nearness to vision of mental
Reflection, that point called to stop at nothing.
Thus render one's self to one's beloved, and be one's own guarantee of success,
Like the thing itself, fall of petal onto one's place of rest,
Interior as a tongue is to the jaw, vibe along
The surface of pointillist render, where in between,
Of that artistry, deify one's ancestry.
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·
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