Streets Empty For Me

I finally have moved a bit.
 Into the world. Like new
released dove. In imagination.
To see through many eyes is
to have your own narrow vision
perceived such for the first
time, to feel the loosing of
boundaries of self, this is
There's a reason you resonate
to the tree that grows in
harshness and bears fruit.
you are to understand it as
a complex. Contact with
part, is contact with all
parts and the whole. The
pomegranate is yours. the
sacrement. But you knew.
Just like the dream vessel.
having done so much time
work -- you can't see the
part now yet either. If
you're good at crazy, water
girl, you won't lose it. Drink
and don't get drunk. That's
the power dance. Two heads.
Or, perhaps many. It will continue.
The tree of doves has roots
in yoga. kundalini. Which
to t flies with phoenix fire.
The crossroads within is
a main locale. clearing.
It's an astonishingly beautiful
thing that I perceive in this.
It's there the fruit grows.
You have a huge landscape.
So lovely harsh and sweet.
All who would here enter
are the creatures of ambiguity,
as you know so well. To
embody so many oppositions
that they inhabit a wholeness.
Maria. Interlocutors las almas
walk there. The whirling
melodies baroque. White
doves. Sete points to the
mystery of that certain crossroad.
last three will be chilis.
A scorpion stang. It's how
you write now. with heads
on. Head on.


Livin on a powder keg
and givin off sparks, are you?