where did all of those sorely sought thoughts go when virtual space did a little wormhole of a dance shaking off pointers like dog fur spun splatters?
it was after a summer rain, of that i am sure. the stagnant stifling humidity stuck skin to everything; adhesive, cohesive, static, dynamic, and bleed, i did.
i built a monastery in the clouds and repeated the gist. splatters?
at least the disintegration occurred after the roll of the thunder and rose-white arc had faded to smell like ozone, sound like violet noise sizzling and dance stop frame ghostly storyboard.
brick by brick
-brute hearse n'arms-
the earth was flat, yet.
the shadows of spear
in an eccentric
cloaked softly organic,
some thought satanic
upon the hill,
deep in vale,
hit the floor;
for the moment,
those names of god
were no more.
gods would not be buried
any more than axioms, forgot;
there would always be seekers
and that which they sought.
ashes to ashes, dust to dust:
in my father's house
lamps flow in trust;
lumens there, in colors glow,
warming some that do not know.
dogma is my parents' pet.
ref 05052011, 250 words
In hushed tones the sound became melody became images became words.
Great protrusions burst, releasing silica spore and feverously whipping
salt settling fluff into clouds; gifted one great body of fluid to another to another.
The features of his face smeared as time polished the stone of him
with the water of him mingled as it had become with the stone and
water of her, and then again with her, and then with her.
"Domination is not stewardship.", translated the melody.
"In honor and humility I reflect upon this symbol of my ancestors as I do the action of learning of it.
Only with the passing of time the learning will become understanding will become wisdom.
This symbol is greater than any gallery of images or library of volumes of words, and yet it is small."
Reverently, with gentle attentiveness, he worked.
The melody was reassuring even as he was reminded of the human experience of life that was his path.
His mind, heart, and spirit flowed in harmony with the melody.
His body resynchronized and recalibrated itself, as they danced.
He had seen the results of his learning.
Too little of one thing and there was deficiency; malnutrition, illness, and failure to thrive.
Too much of another form of it could be easily mistaken for the same error in judgment.
Revealed in freedom.
Reduced as judged appropriate.
How little would be enough?
Formed to his vision of beauty, needle by needle.
Bowing low, he departed the Bonsai.