pastel words


That finishedness of finite learning,
when viewed from the context of expanding consciousness,
can be discomforting,
even excruciating....yes!
Now, words are the pastels
and jarring black inks of dreaming
the dream of what may manifest
in the approaching front of thinking....
and, indeed, i have heard music,
at the oddest occasions,
that has assaulted the vapor of evanescent being that settles about this aging structure that i inhabit......
we share this yearning for walking, thus falling, into the vortices
of the incomprehensible matrix continuum, no? and the gardens at my home are the most beautiful,
yet, in my memory.....the scent of gardenias, velvety roses of white and pink and darkest blood-red
waft in the cool, humid breeze....
soon, the hummingbirds will arrive to nest in the trumpet vine that grows,
like a mighty python,
through the lattices of the garden decks
.....then, tomorrow.....
who knows what that will bring!