three days are way too much with friends, Romans, poets & nondualists

i.


Friends, Romans and Countrymen,
lend me your poor, oops wrong speech(es),
I gave that one a few thousand  incarnations ago
and what good did it do?  So what can
I say now that hasn't already been said,
quite prophetically, analytically, anathematically,
mathematically, calculably,
regrettably and more often than not quite reprehensibly
by some character or another, not necessarily in a
Shakepearean tragidocuneoconmediacommiecommentary
on HBO
or CNN on your subscription cable regularly channeled
channels.

Intention is 9/10's of the law in my book,
and I intend to make a mockery of anything that quacks
like a duck and pretends it's a sheep, baying at the moon.

ii.

It used to take me three days
to resurrect the thought of Anna,
old ways die hard
and I'm not easily lost amoung
calculations and considerations
viral innoculations
and computer programs,
digitally enhanced
or enchanted
genetically disposed and composed
or predisposed
DNA, RNA,
salient mind-bones
brushes with eternity,
more-than-likely
internal combustions
firing synapses
with these unlikely
God-awful sharp edges,
I have called forth like
the hounds of hell
precise and concise
incisions, biting into the all
of all,
I
break the fast
with the wanderlust of Bastet
a dulcet mind
crossing over every duality under
the sun
I
often seep into and blur over
the grey flat land,
clouds of unknowing
pass through me,
moonlight becomes me

Isis resurrected.
Body bliss.