Pantomime Eyelids
Pantomime Eyelids --
an ode to our toadstool temples
A child composed of one
thousand hits, a child
composed of one
thousand hits each
an it; with a meter in
between for their accurate
dreams awakening a... into a...
person, a person;
However, however is
ever asking the answers
whether or not they are
one thousand hits?
______
“Crock… crock… Crock… ribbit”
Synchronicity is
no, yes,
no like frogs
which say like synchronicity
is art
our or
are or
and... ummm
Immeann…
Oar!!!
“No… no… No… sippit”
Constellations of events art…
constellations of events are
the umbrella in my drink of
non-contextuality; spiriting my
non-contextual drink, which is
shadowed by a canopy of connected events,
and I gladly by baffled present un-tense gifts.
Synchronicity art careful hieroglyphs
upon my frosty non-contextual...
Pantomime ignorance as a vast place,
as is, art composed in reflective offs
frogs that say "NO" and their mirroring
heads nod - opposing those oppositions.
Pantomime ignorance is just such a
composition of agreeing ripples, of
light bending away from the chorus
of “Ribbit” and “No... no... No... no...”
The horizon waits before the wading
waste… high days can be seen, enjoying
time placed on the dry other side of the
scenic exaggerations and pantomimic "Crocks"
“No… no… No… no…”
Pantomime ignorance…
is exactly what it isn’t…
"Sippit... sippit... No... sippit"
The horizon's eyes well up with stars
as the waves that they are... move
crossed ponds of many unsaid oars...
woeing... away
need’s disregard for ribbiting sea's
view up at the kites of sky pin-light...
no matter how much they catch each others’
starlight brows wave-functioning together (their)
minds only upon the face of the horizon look;
all just constellation of co-incidence and knot
speed indicators of symbiotic synchronicity
with the changing tide and ebb of "me"
as I would have them… would have them…
"Crock... Crock... Ribbit"
The horizon's eyes art…
The horizon’s eyes are always already spaced a
part of the infinite circle halfing the sky;
The horizon's eye was...
The horizon's eye is.
It is UP to us literally and
down to us literarily as well
to well out our deep lengths that art
exponentially expressed upon evaporation upon and
over top of the horizon's aptly eternal width
Our pantomime ignorance occurs
when the X and Y of the Bodhisattvas’
eyes' sides meet both:
High in meditation to open and
Wide in intention to close (their) eyelids;
the occurrence is an eclipse of the ego
with the source, (there)
the true chaos within upon
the true intention without.
Turning on is dropping
with the ocean in every sip.
Opening to the heights has its requiem
in the intent closing of off, in the intention to
become the widths - as well as having initials.
To turn has always been the intent with both.
"drip"
Cosmic pantomiming of the infinite soul is
found in the returned gaze, reflected off of the shadow
sheaths of those eyes enlightened by the non-contextual…
“…sippit… sippit… sippit,” the frogs awake and sea.
The eyes that open in meditation
close with intention…
To pantomime ignorance is the frogs’ gift
to give anxiety to the lack of each.
“Crock… Crock… Ribbit”
“No… No… Sippit”
Similarly the diplomacy of
the Bodhisattvas’ islands
are composed of a singular, yet!
continuous choice…
that of choosing…
whether or not they want to see
whether or not they are or aren’t
our pantomime eyelids!
(Clothing and books)
The panoramic view from there
allows a cosmic sense to begin
again - without separating against
against again or against itself.
However; however is ever
begging to differ in being
naked and ecstatically shameful
in-inadvertent adventures expected
upon looks and playful day-stools
of transient lotus locus’ i.e.
philosophobibliphobiphiliosis.
“Crock… ribbit… Crock… crock”
an ode to our toadstool temples
A child composed of one
thousand hits, a child
composed of one
thousand hits each
an it; with a meter in
between for their accurate
dreams awakening a... into a...
person, a person;
However, however is
ever asking the answers
whether or not they are
one thousand hits?
______
“Crock… crock… Crock… ribbit”
Synchronicity is
no, yes,
no like frogs
which say like synchronicity
is art
our or
are or
and... ummm
Immeann…
Oar!!!
“No… no… No… sippit”
Constellations of events art…
constellations of events are
the umbrella in my drink of
non-contextuality; spiriting my
non-contextual drink, which is
shadowed by a canopy of connected events,
and I gladly by baffled present un-tense gifts.
Synchronicity art careful hieroglyphs
upon my frosty non-contextual...
Pantomime ignorance as a vast place,
as is, art composed in reflective offs
frogs that say "NO" and their mirroring
heads nod - opposing those oppositions.
Pantomime ignorance is just such a
composition of agreeing ripples, of
light bending away from the chorus
of “Ribbit” and “No... no... No... no...”
The horizon waits before the wading
waste… high days can be seen, enjoying
time placed on the dry other side of the
scenic exaggerations and pantomimic "Crocks"
“No… no… No… no…”
Pantomime ignorance…
is exactly what it isn’t…
"Sippit... sippit... No... sippit"
The horizon's eyes well up with stars
as the waves that they are... move
crossed ponds of many unsaid oars...
woeing... away
need’s disregard for ribbiting sea's
view up at the kites of sky pin-light...
no matter how much they catch each others’
starlight brows wave-functioning together (their)
minds only upon the face of the horizon look;
all just constellation of co-incidence and knot
speed indicators of symbiotic synchronicity
with the changing tide and ebb of "me"
as I would have them… would have them…
"Crock... Crock... Ribbit"
The horizon's eyes art…
The horizon’s eyes are always already spaced a
part of the infinite circle halfing the sky;
The horizon's eye was...
The horizon's eye is.
It is UP to us literally and
down to us literarily as well
to well out our deep lengths that art
exponentially expressed upon evaporation upon and
over top of the horizon's aptly eternal width
Our pantomime ignorance occurs
when the X and Y of the Bodhisattvas’
eyes' sides meet both:
High in meditation to open and
Wide in intention to close (their) eyelids;
the occurrence is an eclipse of the ego
with the source, (there)
the true chaos within upon
the true intention without.
Turning on is dropping
with the ocean in every sip.
Opening to the heights has its requiem
in the intent closing of off, in the intention to
become the widths - as well as having initials.
To turn has always been the intent with both.
"drip"
Cosmic pantomiming of the infinite soul is
found in the returned gaze, reflected off of the shadow
sheaths of those eyes enlightened by the non-contextual…
“…sippit… sippit… sippit,” the frogs awake and sea.
The eyes that open in meditation
close with intention…
To pantomime ignorance is the frogs’ gift
to give anxiety to the lack of each.
“Crock… Crock… Ribbit”
“No… No… Sippit”
Similarly the diplomacy of
the Bodhisattvas’ islands
are composed of a singular, yet!
continuous choice…
that of choosing…
whether or not they want to see
whether or not they are or aren’t
our pantomime eyelids!
(Clothing and books)
The panoramic view from there
allows a cosmic sense to begin
again - without separating against
against again or against itself.
However; however is ever
begging to differ in being
naked and ecstatically shameful
in-inadvertent adventures expected
upon looks and playful day-stools
of transient lotus locus’ i.e.
philosophobibliphobiphiliosis.
“Crock… ribbit… Crock… crock”