if love is literal

where is what has no more give?

can I look at it 

and know that to be true?

what was it 

that gave out in the first place?

could I know that

and now be able to see for myself?

I originally thought 

give and take were much the same.

are there examples 

of what has no more take?

or was that stupid to start with?

anyways, I want to see

what has no more give.

I really don't know 

what that could mean.

is this an object of some means?

if it's a person

now I am really clueless.

is it that they have amazing resolve?

is this situational?

like no more money 

or something like that?

I don't think I know what give means.

if it isn't physical

then what is there to see?

oh, this is a figure of speech.

if love is literal,

why would we do that? . . .

innuendos (haiku)

innuendos fly

as overtones with talons

ravens in my ear

brokenness all around

I live at and with and am the broken,

but not broken.

we all display as broken-down, 

until we present as broken,

but not.

we get broken up

but recover in due time.

we are a constancy of the breakdown,

breakup, breakthrough, 

and then beckoned, 

as if called.

broken is a way of living

until it is a way of life.

there are no shortcuts to breakdown.

internal, as a state that, that is.

it is self induced

and ushered along 

by comparative truth as a self-dialogue.

it's still amazing 

what self-truths can survive

and what demise self illusion can bring.

the riddle of self-worth, for some,

is ever the question, however disguised,

while for others, 

every story told is open to self-interpretation. 

some people have worth, 

bring worth, are worth,

however situational described or presented.

we are all a constant state 

of breaking and mending,

surrendering and healing, 

usually at the same time,

but in unequal parts served. 

deeply broken still has a hunger,

even if it is for just one crumb.

the burden is not the circumstance 

but the judgment is, 

especially if it is self-imposed.

how does one talk oneself 

out of self-judgment,

when the real crime maybe imposed 

by aloneness?

souls do not reflect brokenness.

one to another is an honest act of caring.

the self-work is mandatory, by being.

you can have all the manifest 

of brokenness to work with

but soul-wise I see you

and you see me seeing you.

so what do you have to say 

for your self,

from the soul connection exchange?

how you speak to me,

soul to soul,

starts the process, 

beyond what brokenness has done.

maybe there is brokenness all around.

but I see you,

from beyond what circumstance 

has to offer . . .

the scar (haiku)

scar is a tattoo

even though it is not inked

image, eventful 

as if I cared, I would

our version of orderliness is soulless.

we shall breathe as existence on display.

experience is the life of the party.

conclusions are our diet into dis-ease.

personal wealth is the poverty of self, exemplified.

we are all witness to life without wisdom.

overtures of caring make up the day's worth.

the news is all emotional cookies, out of reach 

but still heart-warming aromas are served.

smart money is hot tracks 

in the melting snow.

comparative truth is a menu 

from the last century.

action packed can never wear 

the wardrobe of think-tank-comprehensive.

Halloween is not a holiday to many 

any more

but now a holy day 

for taking off the disguises.

the real truth is just a temporary job 

in passing.

if glaciers were the all of honesty

then the oceans are now filling with lies.

so maybe we are all boarder-line

and it's just a matter of time.

I wink at earth 

when I deliver the punch line

but earth doesn't get it, 

it's not a good audience for just listening.

supremacy is a dualistic thinking endgame

seduced into a linear point of view.

holding conclusions as beliefs

becomes a private method 

for self-achievement.

is this, as if I cared, 

I would? . . .

constant (haiku)

constant is the prayer

of all stillness in motion

we don't realize

we are under-standing

there is a constant sea of activity 

beyond our sensory range of perception

we claim it to be empty, 

blank, 

void of action 

or our concern.

in terms of mass, 

it is very minimal.

in terms of energetics, 

it is packed.

even that, 

with substances as mass,

are hiding sub-universes 

of vibrational action.

all of which we mostly gloss.

yes, we do respond to a rainstorm,

but hardly react to an evaporation up-pour.

yes, we have sacred rituals 

for our response to bacteria,

but mostly with a hope and a prayer.

we feel earthquakes 

but don't get to the bump and grid.

our emotional drums vibrate constantly

but we mostly assume the ambiance

and respond to the aftereffects. 

our concept of understanding 

is like taking an empty bucket

and putting it under a waterfall

and expecting it to float . . .

how can that be

let's start beyond the unspeakable

that the fabric of words can't represent

there is nothing pinpoint articulate 

to be said

sure, you can guttural, moan, 

shapelessly bellow

as end-point soundings

feeble attempts at speaking the truth

but so much simultaneously going on

for words to pinpoint articulate

yet all you get 

is a flatscreen experience account

for I can't tell you 

but only take you there

to shakeup the clear dome 

half-spherical paperweight 

of your experience style

to provide the turmoil translation 

in sounding

I am not speaking for you to understand

but for you to immerse yourself

in the tremor-land of internal upheaval 

in the three-dimensional wailing 

of participation

beyond gravity intervention

beyond pain as a stimulus 

just plain cutting edge 

summational overwhelm

sure, you can try for the floodplain of words in response

but enunciation is too tidy

loudness is too simplistic

'I can only take you there' kind of sound

is the best introduction 

with nothing depictional 

you become either of it

or you become fascinated 

and horrified as one about it

you swim in the sweat and the swamp

or you paddle around wondering

you free-fall in the fire-pit 

unreasonably rising

or you shut the door, 

think fire pit 

with marshmallows burning instead

so when nuance has more depth 

then dimensions of observation 

can account for

when dreamlike seems miles away

given what's in your inner face 

is smothering

when sensory overload 

has you beyond your self sense

then we're talking unspeakable

then you can fall-back in wonder

how can that for any one be? . . .

( and make yourself presentable again)

yoga class (haiku)

feel, felt and feelings

yoga class of consciousness

daily attendance

at the onset of think

at the onset of think,

where the half-life of think

is not substantive enough 

to register as thought,

experience becomes a free-fall account,

without memory as the gravity 

to redeem by retention,

images may go unnamed.

sensory-dimensions have loose boundaries.

recognition is not the prize.

there is this flow 

to be reckoned with ongoing.

there are no still images registering.

much like water skying or bike riding,

whatever was conceived of to begin with,

is lost in the overwhelm of motion.

you know of your being now as a presence.

all reporting is that as recognition,

but it doesn't register as stillness.

it is fluid as interpretation.

there are other dimensional senses in play,

almost dream like, 

but more grounded aware.

yes, you know of it as think,

but it is mostly empty.

that part of yourself, 

that lip-services it into meaning, 

doesn't have a real job,

and soon sort of fades from relevance.

sure, there is a sense of wonderment,

almost like the think you are having

has never functioned like this before.

there is an alert 

sent out as pseudo-resistance,

but the draw is so inviting,

hardly a sense of fear 

or restraint comes forth.

for it streams.

meaning, ever trying to dress and catch up,

as if by habit,

assumes clothes are required.

it's not like flying.

there is no ground-figure declared.

it is larger than the sense of space

but that does not come as a comparison.

it is more like, 

this void is really occupied.

void is not empty, 

just undisclosed by any normal means.

it feels foreign at first.

so much of mind-habit wants in.

it's like being on a slack-line of attention.

focus is not related to results.

oddly the feedback is 

the future inquiry refined.

the sense of hurl or intendedness plays,

as the sense of one's being 

has never been so undefined.

nothing is sensed as solid.

everything is vibratory real, but not.

for there are no second thoughts 

to check it out.

oddly, you can feel

that this proves 

that there is more to life than living.

I know I said that just now.

and I can't explain what it means.

think is the only word of meaning 

I got to give.

and I am only referring to that part of think

that does not register as thought,

because it is the onset of think,

not at the result of think

going into thought.

it's like splitting hairs

that haven't grown yet.

and then you leap through, 

what you can't comb . . .

woes (haiku)

 

the body of me now

that I never understood then

tells me of my woes

life-views on the ponder

revenue has profited 

but also further separated itself

from the human condition

reality is not capable 

of addressing the source of itself

every choice made 

is a predicable limitation 

put in its place

focus should not be a mind directive

but more so an attentive mind-witness 

rushing is a soft form 

of intimate self-flagellation 

masculine minds create topics to focus on

while feminine minds create feelings to rest assured

the method of diversity-view,

as a happiness stimulator and cure 

is a superficial enterprise 

on a time-line bias and basis

as separate from most everything, 

we only have points of view

yet we live on the real estate of belief

how we think, games us

what we think, plays

we are all running totals

speech is the fiber of the ropes 

we make into belief 

that bind us

the medium is also the massage

even though we only pay attention

to the message in deliverance