Tapping Through RHythms, to Bring home, Precision

February First, 20-12.
Yet it feels like Spring & it feels like, Home.
Moments of Still Air, Meshed with a Deja-Vu-
Realm, The kind of Afternoon tea, that you left
in the Kiln, too long for the Shattered
remnants to remain whole-Y, since this was your
Destiny & that was your Fallacy, & how we'd surelY,
be starven, without the BEE Colony,
who deeds a dozen duals, reminds me of
the HIStory of Fools,
the ones they told us about in
Grade-School,
when our parents shut our eyes & told us
HOW- to- Do,
& besides the lucky sprouts that grew Out, with
no Doubt; the most grounded roots
of Self Sufficient Troops.
Loneliness was only a Battle for the
Homes And Kids,
& not that you're alone, with,
This,
we can surcease, the, paralysis,
quite the minD, allowing your SOUL to
exist...
No Master &
No Subordinate,
Equal parallels withOUT distortion,
Only intuitive breaths of Miraculous
Proportion,
the only type of dream,
never recorded.
_

Today is February Second,
here we are again,
The shift has gone and Twisted Us
as it Does, Pretend
your now is ALL; and the rest indeed, SHall,
pass, back & check forth, skipping spaces
without a Wall, surrounding them -ON,
-In, -Around,
the slip-Slop of a Proposition-
Mind-Hop, & wherever we go,
we allways forget that the///...
The idea of surceasing Intrigues Me,
The daily habits that Decay Me, and yet the Mind
Regards & discards like a Hippo Howling
Ricochets, that seem to be Following,
or IS IT leading?
Eyes a line & paths intertwine,
distance and space
of what a Love could CreatE,
and regardless, of the voices in my Head,
eye am residing in this Here, Gratitude
of what connects my Atoms -to WholeNess.
_

February Three, 2012.
Time for Our Cells to Mishap & align,
for the Rhythms and Rhymes,
we come back home,
only to remember Why we ever Left.
The conversations that Remains in Your Head,
Will only surcease when you Leave Your Head,
& you can write and write,
Until you feel the thought is Dead,
In which, Case the Sun Will Shine
& you shall Awaken to the Land,
in-between, what makes Sense.
Because this world began,
a very long time ago
and the patterns Reap All The Same,
after-aLL, it is a Cyclical Type of Game.
The single Connection between a Symbol & a
Chance can Reveal how Identity Links to,
Happenstance, & with one small Blunder of Wonder,
The portal of Thought sucks all that IS,
into its tunnel of All That Is & suddenly,
the Tic Toc of the Clock, opens and the archaic level
of meaning, is now, Proportioned,
though all Deeds and Notions,
Through the Nature of Phenomenon,
we reckon and suppose,
& it is these two Acts,
which intimately connect
our cells to ALL -we don't know.
_