#100

one man's trash is another man's treasure
one woman's Itch is another woman's pleasure....all dance but few do smoothly
reverberating, frantic, reacting in a panic, so many words for death
and so few for love
one jaw below and one poised above
quick as thought, surprisingly sustaining
spirit speaks through our skulls and from deep in the sky,
the satellite pulls at human tainted energies stalking, talking, electronic-thought beings
all jabbering and backstabbing and flapping lips releasing quivering quips
Don't trip, or do, Konsciousness settles in control of the panoramic view, the intelligent, thinking, simulation interface
somewhere within my inner face or enveloping the earth
Violet light, brighter than the shimmering blue beneath, all
encased in the white clarity of an angels sparkle
Neither Heaven nor Hell
exist as fate or spell
Magic allows what already is, and will continue to be
flooding the barriers of your reality defenders
oh how we pretended to relate
tenderly avoiding the gaps and holes
UnKonsciously allowing the robot to take hold of the steering
mechanism, car crashes, meltdowns and short circuiting
the circuits of the mind, you were taught to read
but you forgot to redefine the meanings meaning that
every moment your ancient intellect is leading the process,
yes,
this life is a process and I am a prophet and
all that I say is irrelevent, yet if I shut up for even an instant
the truth rushes through me until I translate and ruin it,
I'm confused and unorganized, random and problematic
one Woman's Chatter is another Woman's Epiphany
one Man's Clatter is another Man's Symphony.