9/4/25
250-year cycles:
I’m sitting at 11am
staff meeting, and I
suddenly realize
(Ok, not metaphorically,
I mean really) the
head of the table
is piloting above an
astral battlefield.
So deeply invested in
(what I have no
opinions about), but is
oozing in vibration
and dripping onto
the (I think, reasonably
sized due to each
and every soul’s
individualized impossibility) - what,
a battlefield?
So, dripping or
otherwise ‘sorbing
itself between the
pores of a semi-
permeable membrane,
pilot’s view,
this local being
may really be international
making serious waves
𝄆 in the time-space
continuum. Good
poetry admits
its mistakes-
take 20 steps
back 𝄇 evolution
of consciousness
and unity of all
mankind. See, I
have been praying
for this…
See, I have
learned. In the
fire-rite of
self immolating technique
burning-desires turned ash
white smoke admonishes
the seeds of the
earth; breath-wind
clarity arises.
250 years later,
if the staff
meeting goes well,
the empire will have
crumbled, or have
been crumbled, but
who saved our
suppliant souls?
was it the meeting
director? I truly
don’t know! Maybe
Bob Dylan knowed.
a good
poet stops asking
questions.
And spilling all
the plans…