Poetry

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See through both sides.
Two viewpoints arise. 

Risen as it was and cannot hide. 
Don’t abide. Look out with double vision. 
Seek casks of river reflection, perspective collective recollection. 

View from obtuse angles. 
Manifestation of perception. 
Clarity of introspection. 
Jangle your soul until it’s empty. 
Be the viewer and the vision seeker, ocular telepathic change-agent boiling beaker—the shrill sneaker. 

Look out through both your eyes, double vision’ll arise, comprised of it all. 
Two in one. 
One in all.

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The secrets lie within as does the beauty and the sin. 
One day the reflection will melt your shroud and you’ll stand on the escarpment with no one else around. 
Then you’ll see. 
When you can listen. 
Be. 

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Along the vespertine river there are whispers of vespers in your auric field. 
Your mind is clear scrubbed with steel. 
Stolen away from here in another dimension of vibratory grains shifting infinitely in illusory veins. 
Imagine the position from this station, the overview of existence upon this nation. 
Do you really see how it all works? 
I do, but that doesn’t make less homework. 
When the mission’s over you’ll go home first. 
Until then be here, now, then, and after.
Whisper in the fog... 
Rain blusters along the river’s edge. 
Which vibrations do you match in this cosmic thread?  

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As I gaze out through the plate glass window and watch the fractals of the snowflakes grow I know I did what was right. 
I returned to my heart and gassed up that engine in time. 

Out there in the expanse of pine and juniper carpets I drive for miles and miles at a time. 
The illusion of confusion rains down in profusion. 

Kinesis of a telescope. 
Antelope on the plane. 
Rocky terrain. 
Deranged cactus. 
Needles in the hide. 
Abide to none. 
Next we glide. 
Arrive on time. 
Late to many. 
Plenty a fool with vast amenities. 

Set out on foot, take the arduous path slow. 
I’ll show you. 
Wait, don’t go.

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You’re an endless outliner of time in a conundrum of lies. 
Auric fields lined with kindness neither here nor dismissed, overtly expressed in an overture of canvas. 
Coalesced from a facsimile of existence.
In the end we are reconnecting the vibrational illusion. 
Contusions healed and pure energetic perusals. 

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Congeal into granular cerulean. 
Orbs of light and vast valleys. 
River alleys. 
Allies with bombs of tragedy. 
Fears allegedly barking at ears aggressively. 
Don’t listen. 
Turn your attention to the sand. 
Watch how it wisps in the air, how is sprinkles and lands. 
The resilience of man comes together like glass and shatters forth into the past. 
Forward forth, transgressions last, deep in the pit of my aura at last.

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Flowers popped like trumpets in the night. 
Tertiary patterns and bandits on a heist. 
Tubular cannons and colors oh so bright. 
Geometric avenues and rhinoceroses adorned in blight. 
Colors swimming in the sea of existence. 
Existential conundrums on the escarpment of paradoxical conditions. 
Fire on all pistons into the bright night. 
Lit by a half moon superlatively tied to a kite. 
Float along with mana inside. 
A crater of volcanic rock to climb. 
Caught between space and time in this illusory world of grief and grime. 
Pastel wallpaper faded in due time. 
It's the end of an era where the cans opine, blab online and gab in sign. 
I resign my attention to time. 

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Be who you may and who you were and who you’ve become. 
Be who’ve been and who you’ve been delivered here to be of. 
We are who we are since we were who we’d be upon. 
Remember you are who you are until you transcend and then you’ll be who you’ve been at last in the end. 
So be one with us in the master chambers of glen and steep in meadows of light and bask in rainbows of sin.
Sit in silence and find yourself again. 
Find me, find them.
Find all of us the same.

Put me in a space ship. 
Lift me to a temple kingdom. 
Win without winning a ring to bring them. 

Songs of salvation sung sonorously. 
Lethargic caterpillars in crescent webs. 
Make splinters and now are dead. 

Be wed red bread beet read bee read ahead. 
Sullen capturists in prison shackles. 
Champagne flutes trilled like Adam's apples. 
Be here or there and now when? 
If you suffer from sufferin' you should've then. 

Been round that part after last. 
Ticking clocks and our glass. 
Hovering past however hours last. 
One second ahead of last.