Your incendiary words
Are the kindling
In the pyre
In which you stand.
Your hatred
Are the sparks
Falling into the hot oil
Smoking at your feet.
Excite the crowd with an inciting speech,
Encourage the rage of the rage-full
Until they are hot for blood and vengeance.
But ready yourself,
For what you give out
You’ll receive in measures multiplied.
The wounds you inflict
Are both the wounds on your soul
And the wounds
Your enemies
Will flay you with.
The whole world is my stage
The catwalk on which I pout
Performing My sexy sexy –
Look at Me, look at My life,
Look at My happy happy image
Filled with My stuff, My shiny things,
My tits and My gym body bliss
And all the holidays
I could ever wish
Distilled into one perfect shot:
One contrived glass of fizz
Against a perfect sunset
Where all the angst of life
Is edited out
And brushsstroked clean,
Proving Me special
And different without doubt
In a tsunami of content, this
Bland-sewering-scum-tide onslaught
Of same and same and Noisy same
Ejaculated on to the face of My screen.
🤪👍💪🏼🤮
I am the black man
And I love my skin
And the life within the body.
And yet I am the white man,
Pale as the purity of snow.
And still I am Asian.
And so too am I mixed,
With all the races blood
In lattices twisted up in the
Ages DNA, conjuring diversity,
Bringing beauty and ugliness
Time and time again.
But I too am a woman
For there is joy in that form,
As there is joy within the masculine.
And the body of a child is mine.
And sometimes I am sexless,
Indefinably between
The boarders of mapmakers
And nationality.
And I am every class and cast
There ever was.
All this I have in me.
And as I am,
So too is other,
Not one
With jurisdiction
Over emotion, attribute or worth.
Not one less than
And not one more than.
All of us
Looking upon the world
From the same different place,
Infinitely capable
And with equal potential
To be all things.
is when being away from yourself is no crime, and where wrongdoings are smiled upon, attracting no shame.
it’s when Ill thought is not made Ill with thought, but allowed to be but thought in the cosmos of your being.
it’s where there is no requirement for change, for already you are whole, and where need itself is looked upon with equanimity, and even calming is calm beyond calm.
it is when being is simply seeing what is being, and when warmth is all there is or could ever be.
How would our world be different
If when need arose
We’d but call upon God
To ask for what our hearts required?
How would we change
If this was more
Than fanciful belief
Or a hope derived from pain.
What certitude
Would such a connection make,
Our needs satisfied
Way before they became malignant?
Who would we be
With love’s channel open,
The answers flowing out
As if from an infinite spring?
Fragrant rose
Destroy me with weapon of your scent
Until I am laid bare
And broken into pieces
With but one sense left
And one breath
To offer you wholly.
Then let me die
In your folds,
Loosened from the world,
Myself thrown
Headlong into the softness
Of your beauty.
What else
But sweet oblivion
To solve the angst
Of worldly living;
Its pleasures and pain?
Where else
But the heart’s here and now,
To quench
The ever-shifting appetites;
The changeling mind?
Who else
But the you behind the you,
The self itself whole
And happening;
Spontaneity immediately alive?
