| Quarter Turns to Infinity 1. The air is sharp & pointy & snippy, pinches the nose of the person with feet sown on this flying mudball. Morning sun a fireball, purple-red washing out to pink, rising like a phoenix, an everyday messiah, over last night's ashes and lies. Harvest moon follows next, brooding heavily over the darkening fields. Quiet, it's so quiet; just a few crickets out. Hushed, summer orchestra has died down with the first kiss of frost & the subsequent. Just last week it was muggy and sticky. Smell the change, the turn. 2. Answers, Now. Discussion down a stairwell, in a parking lot, anywhere. Holding you up for acknowledgement or whatever comes after. Turn that cell phone off; it's another feckless trapping. Dissemble, i f you dare. Get angry and nasty, if you've got the balls. Your insular little world of semblance and identity-throwing is foreign and alien, contrived; no such pretensions here, however amusing to observe. So very facile to hide out on the other end of online. Wouldn't recommend that to anyone, anymore. Capitalized red letters are just as easily deleted or the address of origin blocked; less effort than slamming down the phone or banging the door shut or saying anything at all. And how very, very chickenshit. |
| 3. Turn you in, on, out. Turn my back; it's time to get on with it. Equinox has come and fled. By force of will, so will I, so do I now, but only for this short current season of viability. In the hereafter, I'm looking you up. Admit it already, once, so you'll be ready before you turn away your thoughts too. You can't fight Karma, not and win, not in seventh heaven, even. No one else possesses the kind of power that taps into yours like electric magnetic euphoria. Eternally happy to see fully we will complete the long-rejected connections. Won't have to try, nor to resist; won't really have anything to do with it because it'll just Be till Infinity. No exclusivity or possessiveness, the same allowed between all. Every triangle that ever was, every sharp-edged apex will smoothe & flow into a lay-down double twist that forever bends back on itself. Have him, her, me; have it, & so will I . With that in mind, always in mind, it's not so hard to mark time. 4. So there's three quarters till forgetting. Another part is hanging out there somewhere, I know it. Believe me, having the knowledge of this is like taking a slow toxin. Forgetting is the anti-venom of the subconscious, & what little of Eden we've walked ourselves through is both the retaining wall and the springboard (in)to the ocean of nevermind. PamEhli/2001 |
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| Since 4-11-03 |