— you see roots of light,
filaments,
flashing,
a congregating of stars
and spiral-wings glitter from your startling eyes —
you’re dancing between
time and space m a t t e r s,
while orbiting infinitely
in, (sensually,)
where every round thing begins —
at the skin, along the falling curve,
heat rises in longing swells,
from the center of you,
a red-red beat out of ache —
cold night, you alone, annihilate…
– this-here’s what you’re not supposed to write like, according to some specifications of imagism manifestos — the cosmic-sonnet, the marrying of romanticism and a cynical wit — so, then this is about the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics, Q=MCdeltaT, entropy heat death, you-know, that creative-destructive edge, where Higgy dust manifests into first-light, when heat death first begins … hence it’s a cosmic-sonnatta in the octave of love over the spill into desperate-seperations, there, where red-red blood swells from the ache of longing, through the fatal-skin you’re-in, from the very first-born into the duality of actions, and it’s just another momento-mori story where you decide whether or not to die, you decide, somehow a choice between being and never-again, and there in the midst of agonizing worry is the Tuum-est in it, with a cynical iconoclastic wit in it — so the Heisenberg manifesto decides on the turn into a wave of creative-destruction, and you choose, ‘annihilate’
I likey you, you likey me, we likey likey, and make many more emo-grammatically 
❤ — I likey you, you likey me, we likey likey, and make many more emo-grammatically ❤ — I likey you, you likey me, we likey likey, and make many more emo-grammatically ❤ — I likey you, you likey me, we likey likey, and make many more emo-grammatically ❤ — add-infineum ad-nausem or OM is where the heart is, and you are home to me… a homily
sorry, a ‘lil DADAism visited me just then, and again within the gathering of many reflections, where there are these shiny broken things, all over these windows on the infernal interweb social groups, on your, once again absent mind, where, in-kind, you’d marry that last bit with romanticism and a realistic cynical wit is in it to give it curry onto the next shiny broken bit … every ‘lil-bit helps you on to play trivial infinity games, like fingering musically these glass-beads, these crystalEyes’d percepts of wonder moving into awe, where your eyes are startled with the beauty of it all, these many reflections which reflect you, over-and-over again, as a Narciisist, absorbed into every eventual-annihilation, heat-death, of the HeisenbuRg duality etude view, the knew, and so de-demurely sweet Echo did too …
I likey you, you likey me, we’re sometimes likely-lucky, and then we all fall down… “I’m drawn to abstract expressionist art due to the manner it allows one to start from a position of freedom. The form shatters the template of narrative structure and re-imagines narrative from the monads of the imagination that remain, as well as, leaving room for the constellation of new forms within the broken places of the image.” — PR
the Enneagram of the White Brotherhood, they’re racially blind, socially charmed in how they’d tremolo with a deep calling to deep lone-longing call, yet they’re really-really kind, in a sweet sort-of way, in how they’d let you play as a one-of-a-kind, with a more then less turn of mind, in a hear-here, ‘NOW” and ‘again’ sort-of way, eh
my agenda can be looked upon like this, that kiss, you know that ‘kiss,’ to kiss the beloved with the same kiss the beloved kisses me, and in that kiss merge with each others mystery, oh, our hearts know this, love attracts love, is the secret of that kiss … you know that kiss, tastes like fresh apples, those fallen angels with their tentative attentive touch which we like so much — I likey you, you likey me, we’re sometimes likey-lucky, and then we all fall down…
sometimes the Poem is a prayer, sometimes the prayer, the plaint, is a diminutive echo of our deep calling for deep, our slippery sloped separation anxiety — sometimes it hurts being separated by such large chasms of time-and-space matters, riding toes-out nose-forward hands reaching toward, rolling the stone from that splendorous infinite-in, where all this did begin, you-know, that swim of epic proportions, diving with abandon, and splashing into frothy-waves on a far-and-distant shore, where a startled-eye Venus at once appears, a ‘feel’ for father, and in the tug back-words for some more, disappears as a ripple into a never ending never more.
sometimes, Feeling this is all I can do, and this ‘this’ is a catabasis romance, and yet a duality dirge too, an elegy of woe, and a place of exceptional Peace, where the quantum frequencies of bliss are released…
?¿ intertextual-fugues ?¿ 