#madnessindivinity

Winding colors in the wind

With the eternal sage of life etched in

Nestled in its wrinkles, a wisdom so divine

Spewing spiraled roots from the garden of time

Wounds of a Seamstress

It seems as though I am afraid of everything and it's opposite -- just as I am everything and it's opposite. Perhaps I should write up a listen of each polar and choose between them... but the issue is consciously picking the same one every day. Repetitively choosing the same side of something every day feels like a death sentence; even if it's good for me, it still kills a part of me. Maybe these parts need to die...but again -- I have died a thousand times and I am still everything and it's opposite.

prism drawing is by a local stranger, Bret. It reminded me of a poem I wrote that's in my upcoming book.

Belle De Nuit/Cherub Desires

Beloved in pastime

In the presence of reality, we dream

Of burdened songs and wicked weather

Sought beneath blankets with holding the fire 

As a ragged traveler, I've written lines that are now crossed and faded

Within series of desires that now sit in their own dust 

Flashing a film of a wilting rose sharpening itself in solitude

Tapered in a projecting sky, we've set the moon out to dry

Dripping it's light down my face and morphine between my thighs

A porcelain figure of me on a pedestal, stoic and cracked

With a dagger through the center, she shatters

Caking black cherry on her lips, all bitten

Leaving trails, in which she trips over her own reflection 

Death binds the book where love was written

She gnaws on every page between it's worn leather

I hear the thorn squeak between the gaps of her teeth

It sounds like it's screaming…

The book was better than the movie

Now that I've contradicted myself to the cusp

Of everything and it's opposite

I'll crumple the reel, and bury it sweetly to rest

- 𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝐿𝒶𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒

Of the pollution of light, a canopy over my head

My consciousness slipping through the sidewalk cracks

Leaking like grief from the soles of my feet

In an instant

My plot of not being seen is made true by my walk in a city

Untold of my journey