this is prose, not poetry
and oh my god the moon, the moon was everything and i felt it and it's there even when you can't see it. you can hear it if you listen close enough, coming and going, a big white rock like the whites of our very own eyes!
our own eyes that aren't ours.
they're gifts that are never ours.
after all, we're dirt. and we become dirt again when we die. six feet under, six is a good number in pairs but never in threes.
I was with God, am with God. God is a part of me and I am a part of God. Part is whole.
I've given birth to a million blessings put inside of me ,
little seeds of life --
exploding at every turn, dispersing from my very womb! i am high and so high and not high and so perfect.
climb ride go, make virgin love to the wind.
i am metamorphosizing and this is everything,
and it is perfect.
(why can't humans just leave talking to the daisies. and oh, they talk, and we don't speak their language.)
our own eyes that aren't ours.
they're gifts that are never ours.
after all, we're dirt. and we become dirt again when we die. six feet under, six is a good number in pairs but never in threes.
I was with God, am with God. God is a part of me and I am a part of God. Part is whole.
I've given birth to a million blessings put inside of me ,
little seeds of life --
exploding at every turn, dispersing from my very womb! i am high and so high and not high and so perfect.
climb ride go, make virgin love to the wind.
i am metamorphosizing and this is everything,
and it is perfect.
(why can't humans just leave talking to the daisies. and oh, they talk, and we don't speak their language.)