From a retro dance hall

a makeshift manmade night
of pseudo-stars twirling
echoes a beyond
born in my belly –
an engulfing slow-motion,
turbulence with no axis

knowledge – undogmatic –
whispers slim as an oboe
there is no One, no Self,
no apartness [apartitude?]
island in isolation above, below
around – as every figure butts a halo
finds its frame in ground –
even nothing is not nothing
save defining else surround

there might have been
some spotless void replete
with nothing but potential,
a neverness tilting towards
a tomorrow that is become
our yesterday –
but here there is everything
ever-interdependent –
no pinnacle, no pyramid
no allmighty save All.

beyond the lines of language –
suspended – molten emotion –
beyond ancient withered
shadows on the moonmind
buried in multi-mutable histories …
there is Love [secret majesty]
dark matter, celestial superglue
in all its mirrorball complexity…

before the invasion of the rutted cretins,
nearly everyone everywhere knew
that god and love
were synonyms




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