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[Poem] Some more wines?
A drinking edition.
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Today’s Poem is a pouring of wine, whatever happens in the continuation of such, we are about to find out. Relax and plug in your headphones. Recommended complementary music is Respond by Sun-El Musician ft Mici.
Sun is not about light. Light is the effect. Sun is about burning. Light. An effect. Focus on burning. They will see light. Consistency is the engine. The duration is infinity. For how long can I keep knocking? Even when it is spaced. Will I knock, one more time in a billion years? Spaced. In another multiple billion years? Or 365 billion times, in a billion years. Each hit. Till the knocking knocks thin air. Even if it is to dig the ground, any ground. You will find something eventually. Would you go through the rocks? Or find another ground? Any choice. Because even a mistake, is the design. Some more wines? It is not the bird. It is me. It is not me. Then, who? It is Nobody. The Sun is my reflection. The Sun sees me. The Sun is happy. I am happy too. Lost in it, We pick our views. Lost on earth. Found. We pick our views. And we have choices. A fight of freedom of choice. Bud and thorn. The same. Tulip flowers. Bud, red, stick, sharp, the same. Yet, Utterly unique. All from one seed, one stem. The fresh side cut, Stick, the top side fresh looking cut, So cut fresh, almond butter. A playing bubbles of buds are here, Different from the previous talling. Let the knots untie. A free flowing. So this is a new story. About letting the knots untie. A wool breakage in starry space. What is in the mulky galaxy Milky Way that zooms us in. Blue, red, yellow, some green when zoomed out. Zoom back, and dazzle in a wheeling star. Turn the back of your eyes facing the inner Sun. Flow through. Lights are out now. Everywhere you look is catching fire in twos. Pour some more wine. Another story. Ride on ligtening horses, Feet, seven planets. Earth, in the fore head ruby glow. See everything. Earth. Ruby glow on my fore head. See everything. Crossed legs. Spine upright. Earth turns into Sun. Self burning. Sun ruby flow. Some more wines? I have heard enough Dos-Dismount. I’m just heading for the ready for road, How will I go home, remaining the same from this? My legs are sweeping happy. I’m sorry, take more wine. Power over power, nothing like ants, Ants that went by to meet Moses at the burning bush, Witnessing, the show of the shape of consciousness. As the wick draws wax from the candle, Somebody, nobody, Lights up the bush drawing the wax of a whirling wind. Fire, where are you? Where does it go? To the burning. In the burning. Fire is in the burning. Fire goes to the burning. Some more wine?