Miso soup. (to hate soup…)
the world warps around the continuous consciousness that grows…
emitting a signal that replenishes the dynamic of energy that gets drained
as the cosmic joke funnels our souls into this chaotic state of matter…
we wash ourselves with the pity and sorrow and laughter
inherent in the suffering of succotash…
the diabolic parabola, the learning curve where the junk collects,
whether at the bottom or in the middle of the air…
the objective? the collective? a struggle…
we were meant to juggle our reality by the thread of a yo-yo,
and by then the merry jester tugs back upon our dreams…
like a simple-minded fisherman reeling in the catch…
the imagination gets a fierce degree of gravity from the inner child,
bearing the bubble back to the ground, but quickly caught off-guard
by the up-thrust of windy retreats…
where is the imagination left now?…
gliding off into gilded realms unknown…
the karmic wheel lapses again, and we see yet another aura on the horizon, protruding like a flowering fruit from the vine…
wishing one could speak without the heart necessary to be surely human,
but the voice never relents, seeking to release the sarcasm out of its pit…
it may seem different, at first, to pursue a separate chain of command for yourself, but the tales they need to be told by the right professors of wisdom…
or the whole gory detail gets lost, tossed to the whims of those psychotic sacrificial lambs, and retold by twisted thoughts to change the winds through idol hands…
Posted by :\_khet on March 10th, 2011 in Miscellaneous, poetry archives. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.