Ballyhoo

Black lights above a psychedelic 

roller coaster returning to 

the sea of soy—beneath its rails 

the barker builds banana splits 

and on the midway middlemen 

delight in dukkering amusements. 

The carnival is burning down the town. 

Come see the doubleheader being 

played in three-dimensional 

illusion! Come hear the organ grinders! 

Smell the neon; feel its pain. 

And while you wait in a line to die for, 

taste the floss that’s spun from rain. 

Genealogical Self-analysis

The fear of death 

is just the fear of that 

which one 

essentially has always been. 

My genealogy, 

if traced in truth, 

descends 

the evolutionary scale 

on earth, continuing 

to comets, stars, 

and all 

dark matter coming from that burst 

of light emerging from 

the great unknown. 

Unborn— 

that is my only family name.

Tempest in a Teapot

Imagine all the world is inside-out 

and what you thought was hard reality 

is pure imagination resting in 

a headless head. That picture window is 

an opening within this consciousness. 

Look, chickadees are feeding on themselves. 

Their cerebellum is this space of sky 

and eyes are everywhere it touches. Ground 

is just the edges of a deepest sleep 

from which the branches of some scientific 

playground spread until I see myself. 

My leaves are falling everywhere. My river 

runs through sure-footed galaxies. My ocean 

waves at countless years of soundless notions. 

None of this is what I really am.

On the Reflexive Universe

The pure subjective doesn’t know 

itself—as there is no it 

to know. There is no Mars or Venus, 

no Earth or Moon or Sun, no Big Bang 

to speak about, no words at all. 

This universe of names exists 

within intent of that subjective 

self to know that self. That’s all. 

The light becomes material; 

material evolves to see 

it is the light. And what we call 

this world of suffering is just 

the last throes of an object in 

its education there’s no object. 

This is the point of space and time, 

all necessary for one rhyme.

I Am the Light

The shadow knows it doesn’t know

the light. The light is well aware

there is no shadow in the light—

and all is light. The light proclaims

I am the light of self-awareness!

There is no dark division in

my light; there are no violent nights

within a world of gloom and fear.

Without the shadow of a thought

there’s only light and not some knot

that needs to be untied in fright—

the light is one and all is light.

Proclamation of the Victorious Revolution

ordinary metaphors associate one concept with another: oh! — metaphorical pointers associate one concept with the non-conceptual: ah!

the u.s. constitution was created to establish a corporate structure for, by, and of the oligarchy—the bill of rights was just the sweetener

a strict constructionist is a defender of the oligarchy—anything else needs to work to amend the constitution. that's the way the u.s. works

true libertarians push the limits of the bill of rights

so the entire fdr-lbj-obama care system could be seen as the usurpation of the oligarchic corporate structure by a populist socialist cadre

thus it's not a civil war—it's revolution and counter-revolution

if you don't know there was a victorious revolution, you won't know there's something to proclaim

as deconstruction happens, the glory of emerging light proclaims itself

proclaim the light! that is all.

The Emperor’s Regalia

In a world of thought, the one 

with singular belief is king. 

Monomaniacal, the force 

it brings is that of all its being— 

to the purpose it believes 

exists for being. What a work 

of razzle-dazzle this thought is! 

Even the rivers are dammed to follow. 

Bridge to Now Here

They’re setting off explosions

in the morning. Waking

to repeated pops,

I wonder where I am

and what those distant bangs

foretell—or vice versa.

Then it dawns on me.

They must be coming from

the bridge site. Down by the pylons,

construction workers wrest

the old one down and raise

the latest engineering

testament to getting

to another place

on time. The river though,

which this old interstate

crosses without a token

given to a ferryman,

keeps on streaming on,

always in the mountains,

always at the sea,

always straight through me.

The Heart of the Matter

The one conditioner is two. 

At first, it’s necessary to 

reflect, and all the world is staged 

to be my mirror. Taking time, 

I learn to see the other as 

myself. It isn’t easy though. 

We call this practice suffering. 

It lasts until another slowly 

gets it in this head—I am 

not two. There is a shortcut though— 

to love the other as my self. 

This is the heart of my intent.

For I am That, the absolute

unknowable subjective self

dividing self to know my self.

This world has named that knowing love.

And as below, it is above.

Feedback

They told me one’s divided and 

they taught me all the names in this 

division. For example, tree: 

there’s the roots and trunk and branches, 

not to mention every leaf. 

It never stops! Example leaf: 

there’s cuticle and epidermis, 

mesophyll and chloroplast. 

The depth is almost infinite. 

In time you reach the quantum wave, 

where what you see is probable, 

determined by the one that sees. 

That’s universal consciousness, 

conditioned as its newest node 

within its network not to know 

all’s one, but one's separate in a world 

divided. Such a world is war, 

defending indefensible 

divisions. Even those professing 

peace and justice, equality 

for all, will fight the other for it. 

On the other hand, that one 

acclaiming one—its sound is love.