Desires Of My Mind

Desires in search of attires to bear the fruit of satires for my attire to make more desires
Unable to be aware of the nature of this mire
I weave the quilt of guilt as my belt to uphold up my pants of rants

Lost in my desires, engulfed by my fashion for new attires and enslaved by the mind behind my minds barbed wire
Unable to wake up, I hick up through my life of desires as a ream of dreams

In the pursuit of a dream, in this leap of my sleep
I have become a brute to loot, to scoot and to recruit more sleep

In this sleep, I weep, I sweep, I peep through the sleep
Dreaming, I am awake, awake within the dream of the sleep, seeping through life’s dream within the dream of the dream
I make up my own beams and screams of dreams

Confused, camouflaged, bruised, and abused by my own mind
I excuse myself of the self as a separate self to help me with the accused, with the amused

Within time, within this twine and within this train of this intertwine
I measure my treasure, my pleasure, my tether to live through the weather of the tether

In the name of together, for the sake of the heather of the other
I hold, to be bold, to uphold this mold, to live in my own blind folded mold
To behold this fold within the fold, I am sold to the wings of desire and to the streams of dreams

Wandering, meandering, plundering and laundering my plundering to make my I a hardening
I am just gardening a little more darkening to keep me asleep in this nether
To make me afloat, to look for another boat, to look for another ship of relationship
And never to unzip, to take upon the judgeship
For the judge ship is another kinship to use as a flagship to wonder of my next battleship

Ships I change, whips I arrange
But for the scar of the ships whip, I am always in range

With Scars I am full, through the stars I am filled
To maybe someday, maybe one day, I may wake up, not from the dreams or through the desire within the dream to shake up
And actually wake up

Maybe within that movement of the moment’s movement, I may invoke, provoke and evoke

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Inheritance

Like the time, I was born, I dint know I was born
Maybe, when I leave, I wouldn’t know I have left
Maybe, such is the nature of birth and death
And everything in-between is not mine, it is of the other, it is the inherited thought of the other to the other to another

So I ask myself, how can I rejoice of my birth, that which I dint know
How I feel sad of the approaching death, again, that which I don’t know
For both the sadness and joy are of the known, are of the inherited thoughts

Maybe, such is the nature of hate and love, fear and fantasy
Maybe, it is someone else’s fear, somebody else’s definition of love that I made it mine
Maybe such is the nature of relationships, it is someone else’s thoughts I have made it mine and started adapting, adopting, acting them, passing them on to the other to relive another day

Maybe, so is the reason that each of us is called a person, meaning, a mask
For each of the masks I mask myself in, I task myself with to bask in my many masks

The mask of the male, the mask of the mother, the mask of the female, the mask of the father
to create a cask for the masks to fit, called relationships
Like a fish in the water, unknown of its water, I swim under the ship of relationships, carrying, storying and marrying my masks

For in these masks I makeup my life that I call mine to relive to revive the marriage of my masks
Making Life a knife edged with good and bad within which I find my pleasure of the strife

Maybe, one day I may realize that Life is neither in the good nor in the bad. Neither in the light nor in the dark
And that day, maybe I let not the opposites be a requisite for life

For the day of departure may arrive within any moment
The moment of suffering can move in within any movement
I let not my power over the other be my own cower

The mask of Suffering is real, as real as the body
The task of my perceptions are real, as real as the perceiver
The basking of pain is real, as real as the memory of the pain brought into the moment within the movement of its elegant expression

I cannot change you, I do not want to change the you nor the world
I do not want to wait for the day of my departure to realize, to actualize, to mesmerize the beauty of life beyond the walls of my masks

For the end of the rainbow is near, very near
So maybe I sacrifice the me, to be born form the ashes of the me’s me
to give freely, to outlive that which I give to maybe relive really

For the path of truth has no path of the fruit
It is a path I have to unmask and face it on my own two feet
to stand up to the habit and to the uncomfort where no other stands, where no other walks, where no other marks
It is a path that I create for myself and myself only to walk alone, all alone
For I am that has no claim for I am is always alone

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A Formless Me

A formless Me, forming me from the dormant me, a storm of me
For a new norm of me, swarming me, deforming me, transforming me to reform me
for I am just a free form

My destiny unseen, My nature unseen and My Journey unknown
so why be an attorney or play this tourney
For maybe, my path is that of the thorny

Each thorn picking out the nectar in me, each sector in me, the very protector in me
To warn me, to be born in me, to reborn within me,
to quench me, to drench me, to bench me
to storm the trench in me, to reform the thirst in me

I am neither thirsty nor testy
I am neither warm nor the norm
I am neither the thorn nor that of the worn by the thorn

The worry is of the body, the body’s mind
the fear, the near, the steer, the dear, the smear, each is that of the body mind, the body’s minds grind
The grind is a rat race when I have a face for the race, for a space, for a trace of the grace and disgrace

I let not the body hold me a prisoner, prisoner shackled with its treasury memories, fed by the exemplary stories of the fairies
For I may be the frontier, the light year, that chandelier, that spear that lights up the heights of my mind
And yet, I am neither the light nor the height,
Neither the frontier nor the interior are me, they are the me of the body’s me

So I be free, let the body be free, let the mind of this body be free, free of its own sweet pain and gain
I let me embrace, embrace the birth place
The birth place of the space, the face
For I have no face, no space, no trace of this interface

And I maybe, neither the form, nor the formless
neither time nor timeless
neither the One nor the None

For I roam on the wings of time, into the abyss of space, with the knotless thought

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A Recycled Me

Maybe my memories are like that of time, recycled over and over
My experiences like that of matter, creating my reality as my actuality through my memories
And my thoughts are like that of space, vast and yet are a result of my memories and experiences
Weaving the very fabric of the me I call as me

I am a fictionary element living in the dictionary
Defined by the Dictionary, confined by the images and intertwined by the images of my mind projected onto my mind

Cycle after cycle, recycled by my images
Revived by my images, recited by my images
I have become an image unto the image of my image

Unknown beyond my image, I am just a bond between my images, responding to my images, reforming my images
from the memories that memorized me, from the stories that mesmerized me
And yet I am surmised by the rise of the these prized memories

For the sunrise, I think I agnize is just another way to glamorize my image of the sunrise as my apprize for a rise

Aided by my images, graded by those images and shaded by the images within my image
Persuaded, degraded, barricaded and intoxicated by my images
I lead an experience of the past thinking I am fast not realizing that I am just a cast

A cast in the movie, created by the cast, for the cast to uncast the cast that cast the cast of this Mast I call me

I am the actor, I am the doctor, I am the redactor and the very common factor
For it is the I am that is the image of the I am that I think I am

This I am made me an I am for I am to show me My I am, to know me I am
So maybe, I am and I, and the I of the I am may loose its luster and its muster
to be free of memories, to be free of experiences that create memories that create the thought of My

And here, I wonder……

Recite

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No One Is Lonely

No one is lonely, No one is only
No one is alone, No one is one nor none
For the one to be the one, everyone has to become none to make the one everyone and none know one

To know one, to be none is to be no one with no reference to everyone
My perception may give me the me, the idea of me
For there is no me without another me

Each me is another me, all of me is no other than me
I let not the me divide me, separate me, enslave me
For when I am enslaved by my thought
I am another slave that is caught in the taught

Dictated by my thoughts
Directed by my not’s
Let not me dedicated to my knots
For then my knots become my clots, my plots
My plot for another spot, another slot, another fraught

A mind that is not here has no one near and yet everyone is dear
Fear not the mind that is here, hear not the grind of the mind that is dear
steer not to the bind of this blind find
For it is a kind of the mind and not the mind of the mind

The known mind is old, yet it is still my mold
for my habit is a known hold
So I be free of this fold, of that which is told, of that which is polled

A mind that is free, will neither wander nor plunder
And may ponder, may wonder, may be a splendor to its own wonder of the wonder
For I am neither One nor None or Everyone

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Power In The Tower

In the name of the Power, I am trained to crawl up the Tower
The lover & the giver is just another name of the power over the other
For each is another control tower to hover over the other
To tether, to hither & thither, the other

Living through the other, unable to examine my own perception of power
I look for the other that is also after the power

In this race for power, to create a space for my control tower
I divide my mind to create a self called myself to abide to my divided self
A divided self, fed and bred by my denomination of abominations

Abominations of denominations of Race, Religion, Color, Country, Culture and every other segregation
I aid to this fire power to build up for my hour

Maybe I do this, so “I” don’t have to change, I don’t want to give up my habit, my mechanistic way of my miserable “known” life
for the unknown, for the new that is not known is abandoned, is condemned to the habituated slave mind of mine

For example:
A thief justifies his/her way of life through another thief, thus calling the world as a bundle of thieves, so I don’t have to change myself, look at my own self and my way of life

Maybe this why I identify myself in everyday life with, my race, my culture, my country, my religion, my this & my that, inside/outside
And actually want YOU to do the same and I AID you to do the same through a million masks of mine

Satisfaction as my gratification
Ratification as my formation
I live for the proof of the other, in the spoof of another

Holding on to the “My”
Shielding the My from the I
Yielding to the My over the I
I am lost within the tide of the MY, a divided MY

The day is here and the sway is near
Like the footprints on the sandy shore
Every mark will be wiped
Every spark will be swiped
Wiped from the face of the earth and the very mask of the man

For every tower will fall, every power will stall
Above all, every flower will hail & prevail

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Drifting Bodies & Shifting Minds

Drifting Bodies and Shifting Minds
Gifting memories with rifting experiences

Living in the differences, finding the difference within the difference of the difference
I have become a nuisance to the wants of the indifferent
Flicked by each one, flipped by everyone
I am no one to raise the one in each one

With no dimension to mention and with no mention of a dimension to make my illusory mansion
I await in the depths of my breath for my dear friend, death

Death as a memory to relieve me of my memories, to relive another memory
I am tangled in the web of my own fury

In a world that bows to the glory, I make my story a fairy
A fairy story to makeup my dairy, A dreary dairy

Bounded by the pleasures of the flesh
Hounded by the measures of my minds mesh
I am found within this mesh of the flesh

Bodies as a manifestation of the thought
and thought as expression through the bodies
I have become an extension of the thought of the body, living in the knot of the shoddy

Unaware and unable to recognize the nature of this thought, I go about being a feature of my own drought

The thought that is crowned, the thought that is downed, the thought that is abound
And the thought, thinking of the thought of the thought that is confound may come across the nature of its own nature
To liberate, to desecrate, to negate, to disintegrate each thought and every thought

Maybe here, maybe then, I may come across that which is not of the body, through the mind of the body nor the knot of that which is taught
For the thought that is not caught, is not of the taught and not of the sought.

Glorious

Adrift

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