This theme will now be laid to rest. If you've been reading, you're full on it, as on a bad meal.
High on Afterlife
Another bowel-loosing noose of dawn,
crowds cheering.
No more lament of lucubration.
Communication from the other side, this,
scene of no scaffold or reliable rope.
Lovely. Dream-state. No tyrant.
Fingers and feet twitch with visions.
No wind chill factor, no factors at all,
yet calculable: One plus one
equals one. At last.
Beneficent universe: blackness
wraps, a merciful hood. High
like this, one sees inward infinitely, hears the yawn of dawn without
shiver, tastes past, dispassionately.
All necks nod east, or would, if east were.
Endearing lack of direction.
The cosmos lives, feasts kindly on the
everlasting gratitude of those
who finally snapped to.
What language, yikes, He is going to get you, ladder or rope or whatever, and not knowing east from west ha, not showing gratitute you are breaking the cosmos heart, it might even stop living.
This would be too realistic a cry into the night for most, and getting no answer, no ladder,no robe with gold stitches, but it's the part we don't see, some don't want to see, that's another cosmos altogether. Hugs! Jasmin Horst
I have to admit that I don't understand this poem at all. Maybe that's a good thing?!? Maybe I'm not thinking straight these days. My mind (and body) are rather "taken over." Love and best wishes,
Regis
Reviewed by Peter Schlosser (Reader)
Reviewed on December 8, 2009
High on afterlife! Me too. I can't wait to blow this pop stand called life. If you told me I'd be dead in 6 months, I'd say thank fu**ing God!
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This would be too realistic a cry into the night for most, and getting no answer, no ladder,no robe with gold stitches, but it's the part we don't see, some don't want to see, that's another cosmos altogether. Hugs! Jasmin Horst
Regis