For Yesterday Somehow

We are bent in the Wind that promises better things.
We watch the the clouds quilt the Sky.

Sometimes it seems sad,
that we sleep so much more than we dance.

The bridges of topic we burned with abandon in our March on Love.
Now Life is a Mad Tea Party of memories and still much to accomplish.

Now again they bent their heads and walked against the Wind..
The town waited around the hill.

They pass through the sleeping orchard dreaming of Summer herbs.
They speculate on the mystic apples of the future.
And find themselves home.:.

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The Crust of Fire

The outer edge of the flame where it is just air before the smoke. Fire needs Air. Two Elements side by side, constant, entwined, changing shape without changing form. The art of point conciousness.. The heart as embryo, precursor to soul.

The devil on a tight rope with all the demons of grief below.

Just remember that no demon has eyes unless we give them.

Sisyphus, the refrigerator

is groaning uphill this morning. The coffee is hot and bitter so much the better.
I have a fever of words
I feel as if the house had landed on ridge on a hard Winter planet, level and looking out. I stare out the pressure lock at the harsh cold. I would not have made the night. Lost in the towering wealth of each moment.
I have a fever of words
A studio sky. The canvas of imagination. Some of the best art of the Western History Period was sets. We sit and stare at it, past the players who burn or blur our lines. The props rattle and shake but there is no wind.
I have a fever of words
The cold draws just like Gravity. The wrath of the void. The second Law playing out. An hour of grey indifference the silence played on a wool flute. These low clouds the factotum of despair. Not enough Sun to keep the kitten warm.

Going too far from Home

The theory being that when you travel you never return home fully. You have left part of yourself on the horizon; looking back at the, but it really isn’t a road, it is more of a way taken, none of the firm lines of a highway, like ways of the Sun crossing the Sky.

The first jolt of thunder is the new drumbeat of Spring, and we hope to hear it measured in Summer.
This is a good day grey with the promise of rain.
Good Rain, come lave the trees,
wash their limbs and waken [them]
This place is sudddenly filled with a tilted curtain of snow as the breeze dances by in her borrowed veils.
An hour after dark it is cold again, but there is no frost.
An hour after daylight it is warm..
The trees have begun to speak to each other. The few bees are slow, but grateful. The Spring Sun would be a good heiroglyph for hope. The robin is loud and numerous, yanking worms from the earth, amdist their broken running of starts and stops. The flat sweet dandelions small and scattered. The bird bath the only gnomon on the lawn; its shadow delicious on the turf, one hour of innocence pointing at the lilacs tight with buds.
Your words sir, are too rich for the tongue, confuse the mind and lower the lids.

The Straight Curve of Gravity

"The Straight Curve of Gravity is an issue that bears some thought. There is the previous illustrations. Where the teacher is debunking, 'There is no such thing as a straight line.' Then pushes the soda can off the lab table. "Straight to the floor." With any thought at all you can short sheet his debunking. hahahaho. Trajectory, rotation of the Earth. But that was high school. This is now or isit?" Cosmole ever learning has lime in his tea this morning.

Liz was thinking, "'Wilder than Alice's house, look at those old clocks and then it dawned on her, after looking at that wall filled with clocks, that all were aligned, not chronologically, but that they all proceed from upper left across and down all but one second further along then each one's predesessors. That even the weary heart has a seed of hope. And this is very strong green tea.'"

"It is one long instant. By the Time you scan from one to another it is the same instant, by the rate of one second per clock, ninety six clocks, over a minute and a half in one instant. There are other configurations, but this one suits me. It is Inflationary. Anyway, the Moon four hundred times smaller but the Sun four hundred times further away. And eclipse of some precision. Doubt in the coincidence. However, our original point was, yes I could see Vela and Pyxis [Sails, Compass] of the Great Ship in the Sky."

"This is the place were there was a large supernova event approximately ten thousand years ago. Clearly visible to those on Earth, in the lower and southern latitudes at the that Time... But mostly these are two portions of the Argo Navis. Jason and Medea.. Did you see where that woman went Medea in Texas, threw her cildren off a bridge and then herself?"

"That is why I try and stay focused on the Heavens... More tea?"

Stamping the Envelope

"There is a place on the mountain that these people have gone, we think we know where it is, but irregardless we need to find them. They have already been gone thirty hours. The weather is moving in. But remember no haste. Any questions?" Sheriff.

"Do you think there is a treasure up there?" Ben.

"No. Serious questions?"

"Do we get to keep the treasure if we find it?" Hunter.

"I can't tell you that." Sheriff.

"So there is reasonable doubt?" Ivan.

Whose day is Tuesday?

"It is unfortunate, but it is Tiw or Tyr, a Norse god of war, one armed. It was interesting how they saw the world. Ragnorak is especially interesting. but another day.

Another Monday

"Pathless through the familiar ways of my life. Words, everything is words. The poet is mad, but does that make him unhappy?", the Librarian, Liz.

'Reality: The nucleus of a vacuum.", that's Ambrose Bierce, a very bright but perhaps overwrought author.

"I find that happiness is usually a state of chocolate." Happy

Not Again

All the ventifacts polished by the Wind’s constant attendance. The Sphinx laid down for ten thousand year nap, the Wind nudged but could wake him or wear him away. Noble resting in the Twilight, the Air a rose cape and the dry breeze a cap. All was wonder in the Realm of Dreams. R 2 to M. 2 to L and M. Fraught with the impossible realities binding on those there. Rose Red and Snow White passed you by, and you of cinders you’ve had your fill. In a land where the birds talk and stand still and the Moon shines like the Sun, it’s tough to escape back awake. All for home, Sun in the window and relief from the dreams that stuff the the pillow. Rise for the new day, wake up, wake up, wake up...

The fool stands in the garden overlooking the Sea.

That was after a confused border that argued with the trees, the axes and anger out. What is the purpose of this? Wake up, wake up, wake up! There is anger on the face of the clock and calanderl, it didn’t trip the spell check, besides it’s a dream get out of the way.

Interview, you can't hear the questions just the pair's answers

"There is a portrait in the Palace of Sweet Dreams, that is what some call it. The Woman that looks out of the painting is Maria Luisa Isabela Baca. She is lonely behind the bar staring out at the crowd. The palaca as some of us like to call it, is the hub of a social wheel: on some nights it is a private club. One night, get this, it is the Yacht Club, I'd call it the liar's club, but what do I know?"

"They have poetry, jazz nights, club nights, you'd have to ask Lisa. Mellers and PastorAl, foster a lot of the arts.." .:.

"I have seen Mel answer she doesn't know, that her dad bought it, and that it is no relation or anyone she knows. Next time you go, look at the necklace. It is a Myan cartouche. In the onyx of night, green black. It lays where you'd would place your hand without touching her neck, just before you touched her breast...

She has health and luxury, in her satin and crepe, you can see aureole and shape. She has her hands paused. It is twilight, it is demasque, while she waits for an answer to the question she just asked. She still waits a hundred years later.."

"I don't know about any of that?.. Sounds like.."

"Sweet Dreams, that's right.. She was the great granddaughter of the Grant owner. And the fact that she could only have one husband and one lover, killed a number of men, soldiers, tinker's sons, traitors and all the rest, as a duel for her love commenced."

"Is there an Atlantis connection perhaps?" .:.

"I will go on. Thank you.. The cartouche promised greatness and abundance to the wearer. It just wasn't taken to mean sorrow and sadness."

"Why do you drink to forget?" "I don't know I can't remember."

What do you Ear?

The Moonscape of Autumn above treeline. The large boulders like an amphitheater of grinding teeth. The rocks don't see us for we are too emphemeral, and the peaks never know we are there. The bristlecone, ugly and stunted, bent and broken is the only worthy witness, but mute unless the Wind play the bow. Usually this area is refered to as the Kingdom of Wind, so that the mute talks a lot. On the limbs and leaves that can abide past treeline... But today the Air is slow and easily warmed by the hollowing of elevation. This is the silence of the peaks...

But it can turn on you swift, slow you down to a crawl, from where you would accept death for the warm embrace that it is...

Crestone Actual

http://www.lifeandlove.tv/

Old Worries

"Put it from your mind. You must let that which is passed go. Give up the pluperfect world... Look at the future subjective.. It is pluripotent. []

On the other hand. The past can be very informative, a lesson to all. But it is like school, there are lot of people that are just not interested. A poll, an instrument of indication, of adults, in any year yields the same results: I don't use anything I learned inhigh school in my job... So what was learned there that you use today? There must be something?", Liz.

"Sex.", Happy.

"I hadn't thought of that."

"That's because you didn't."

"I was a good girl."

"So was I."

[is free to develop in any manner]

The Soliton of Love

"The long wave that moves through any medium unchanging. First named by a Scot and known also as the 'wave of translation.' He noticed it in a canal when the barge stopped the wave left the prow and continued on at its height, shape and speed far down the canal; he rode a horse after it, a couple of miles, where it disappeared in the windings of the canal. [John Scott Russel 19th C, engineer]

It is also a phenomenon in optics. A wave of light shaped by phase can travel through the transperancies, without losing its form or properties. The flash of Love traveling through a sea of glass. How do the two pulses find each other and interact, they must at least change their direction to travel together. Since love is a soliton it is not surprising that so few travel together well.

Or is it our spirit that is a soliton? And all paths are shaped by gravity and governed by Time. This would explain the curving together of so many lives. The desperate generation twisitning out of sight. Attending the 'House between the Worlds'." The Cosmole sipped his tea.

"He is just a faded romantic, a blunted poet, the sand left behind by the Wind. A desiccate, all the promise of the Horizon's water, the split water of the desert, boiling away at your approach... Who's the faded poet?" , thoughts alone.