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Caterpillar on the Chalkboard


by Darryl Price


What do you want me to tell you

about this next full moon cycle that you don't

already intuitively seem to have touched upon in your latest bout of almost there dreams? It too will

pass? That it is a totally different animal

from the repellent one already tightly wrapped onto 

the now familiar cosmic branch of wheel and wind

fastened to the one short road ahead? Food's craved altogether differently from a

different set of lips? Well, okay, then it is then,

a storm  perfectly round in nature is coming after you, if you

choose to look at it in that way, only

 

that's your perfect freedom on a sixth sense kind

of pathway, so enjoy it, but it's also exactly

the same eternal energy source at the root

of any tree, in that the love connection

we all know to be there somewhere at

the center of every coming into being central pulse we feel in our veins 

is still the very real affection we all

get to have all the time at the

deepest levels as it gets played out or

played through on any number of different channels

 

of our personal heaven or hell. Like the sea it

changes salts all the time and it also

strangely stays the same looking forever.  Not so

much like you are always staring at the 

sun's brilliantly mirrored facial expressions mind you, more like waking

up in the new morning pop of muscle and nerve, as simple as that.

It is the supreme is that's got that

certain swing, baby. Philosophers accepted this crazy mathematical 

ring a long, long time ago, but it

only gets them mad as hell the more

 

they think about it. And of course since

they think about it so very deeply and childishly

often they drive themselves slowly insane as a

by-product of all that wasted head space. Poets of

course thought about it in terms of their

wildest erotic visions and decided it all made

the grandest sense as a beautifully carved musical

instrument that could only be heard by sad

angels and certain shy children. Angels see it

as a normal wormhole, not to be equated

 

with miracles at all, on any level. And

so forth, and so on. The oldest mysteries

are always yours to wrestle with whenever you'd like,

but please be aware of your own pulsating 

mind at work at its most self-preserving-first forward thinking best, its conniving up its sleeve

best, as it gives a right answer to

the question you ask for and nothing more. Here's

the whole trick: you can't always ask by

asking, you can only ask sometimes by doing,

or by believing, by living, or by dying.

 

 

 

Bonus:

 

Bowling for Rain

You have come home to me like little wooden boats quietly sloshing towards my own light among lights, thank you so very much, but you have not the true character of the one I was seeking by dream tom-tom tonight. You, all you kids, with your ripened eyeballs still clinging to the vine, remind me of cellophane detective

 

agency children, all colorfully garbed and hungry for the riddle of the twisted truth to be solved with a snap, snap, snap of a chubby chipped thumb and forefinger making a plushy triangle in the modern wind. Still, as my honored guests, you are hereby certainly most welcome to enter

 

peaceably my own humming able abode. I'm grateful for your presences, tonight,truly I am. Truth is I was feeling a bit alone just now anyways. Perhaps that's the funny feeling signal you somehow read in my rising smoke rings then from so very far away? It's funny how a pipe will do just as easily as a good old solid fire

 

sometimes, if the writing's clear enough. But now back to the basic business at hand. This is mine to give, and so will I do so. Enter. Something with a meaning for us has brought us to our present moment together and I'm just as curious a frog as the next to jump in and give it a proper name, aren't you? There

 

are particular and ancient sounds we could use to stir the senses alive that have been spoken or sung many times over before, by better poets than all of us I'm guessing, but we might as well be wise to wait and see if we are to be given that one we haven't heard before between any of us, especially for the new

 

circumstances of our being together like this, huh?  I always find these things have their own schedules to land on. It does absolutely no good not to be generous in any case, and kindness is at all times and in all places the best key kept on ready by the front door for just such magical purposes. Tonight we sing what it

 

means to dance! We dance what it means to sing! And if we're lucky we'll give the world its brand new flowers in time for a little more morning rain. Just in time for making some jolly good tea. Eh, what? Oh that, that's just me sitting in my chair in another year and writing down your names for safe keeping.

 

   
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