What Swarms Eventually Scatters |
By: Michael E Angell Posted: 2009-07-26 08:04:01 |
What swarms eventually scatters.
What says 'What?' comes from having been touched to the ground roughly smooth by both Birth and the worthiness of that breathing Void whose lungs are cargo planes for famine, flaming torches held by cave painters and the cold metal smell of having chiseled all day long on a shadow who would not hold still.Plunging his vision into a sliding door's glass filled with yellow meat-bees. Witnessing again the stray cat that needs worm pills. The picnic table missing its umbrella for both unwished for rain and sunburns.A dream that whispers enough unfinished business to begin an industry in issues that arise for the sake of Eternity's predestination in being itself.Is it what we are or will be that we talk so much about what happened and might have happened, all based on 'being' surprised that we missed our own countermeaning and measure within the cellular belly dance of this Universe sweating falling stars to have sex with God's desperation, God's singularity unfolded for the reason of shining creases and not forgotten book marks?How boring is a single, alone-full dove, that Noah released 'that one' out of all he could have chosen?How about a bird with more autonomy, more resilience and resonance with what it takes to survive Change's no-face who's looking for perfection in the birth of decay and those new rainbow-beginnings sprouting from the swamps of stagnation, stalemate, and oil spills?Like an albatross, a falcon or condor (Or even a couple who mate for life.)'For life?' Yes, that's redundancy squared inside being born from an egg, from an idea, from liquid to hard calcium,From oranges rolling into your new infant palms, to catching stacks of pennies held on the flat part of your elbow-balancing act let go...Do we know what we are becoming? What is in front of all this that we're walking into by the vehicle of Death and Birth, these two shoes that ever remain untied since they're mootly on two right feet and can at any moment be exchanged for one another's 'place' in this tripping over ourselves-celebration of some song we've never altogether heard with any other ears than those we've been given by wombed-default,and Default determines so much, that Freedom is hardly condoned by a some-thing who lives as vicariously as a tender-to-the-sky-falling-snail zig-zag-crossing a street,telescoping eyes looking, tasting the asphalt's faults, altogether amongst midnight rush hour fleets. |
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