Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #8

 Expanding Field of Malignant Tumors,
             With every loss there must be some found.  With every negative account there is a positive one.  So... where did our money go?  Money made is some how lost.  A ghost of bills light and easy to move.   Move Where?  A different course, a different country or a different time.  Time was bought so we can be left confused.    Turn it upside down then it goes down stream or upstream.  Either way it goes to the top of everyone's mind out of sight at the right time.  I am no Scientist but can you make energy out of nothing?  Whats the law of thermal dynamics???

But this has nothing to do with this post.  


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Reflections of the One
(Stories of the Two)

I believe in phantoms.
I've seen some with ugly long faces permanently in horror
Others still and sunken reminders of the plague that can be a thought.
One keeps me company.
A creature similar to me, fallen off course, a start for chance encounters.
As I walk, as I see, she becomes the template in which I measure the rest of material existence.
The standard hair, the pretty dress
The average pair of legs,
Become a crumbly itchy projection from the outside world.
Fleshy and materialized forms of earthly delusion.
Into my minds eye it comes, destroyed by that which is occupied with, my dark angel. 
It seems as though this lovely ghost was made special for me
To exist in my tarnished heart.
To be looked for desperately in my sleeping life, and spiritually in my waking one.
It is ironic that when I began to see the light it was partly blocked by this shadowed figure.
An angel so disturbed,
She finds a temperate climate in my darken soul.
And angel so beautiful
She brightens the same space.
She is with me so often I could write stories of our voyages.
I ride on her wings of sensual piety but the weight of us both keeps us on this middle earth.
For now she tickles my perverted mind, but soothes it back to the surface.
A relationship that is ephemeral because of the fact that we exist together, purely as converging paths of an instance.
An instance that needs to be understood removed of judgment.
Because this instance is our own she is willing to wrap her elusive self around me.
Let us forget our role.
Our birth and our death,
Our creators and destroyers that make us of different substance.
May my words be a testament to the possibilities of new rites.

This Bondage is not of marriage but of a three-legged union.

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