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first a mishap then clear vision

                        face it
  let yourself                 there is
 but never                       no point
known it                           no victory
     always                       no justice
  and you’ve                 there never

                                                        all the effort
                                   again using                           of reading
                        willing to build                                     writing and
                 for the way back                                              accumulation
                 around hopeful                                                   creating hope
                     and looking                                                      of a salvific
                         I am lost                                                       point but it
                        accept that                                                   plateaus ever
                       and I finally                                               as it is made
                             is stumbled                                       and takes in
                                  before a trip                           miles of amble
                                                          and wander


                                              the natural plain of this life’s journey
                                                              is to gaze un
                                attached past the complication and
                                              across the complexity
                                              to see clearly all the detail
                                                              and form in itself
                content to look unfocused and elemental
                                until my age and career
                                required glasses
                                              so that now
                                I react centripetal to the world
                                              that calls my name in shower and wave
                                and I become
                                centrifugal and solidified
                                (vagued and vulnerable) to
                an identity I can never find
                                while the world keeps leaking
                                              and escaping like gas


                                                                          (let them all …
                             and no hope of identity                     disperse
                           with no need of hope                              clean into the scene)
 as the energy fans awry and around                                    like a ‘scape until
                                  and slip-slide                                        the next moment
                                                  only                                    which
        and the shift and chirrups of élan                              moves
                                                          just                       both slight and extra
                                            to the roles and tides





being & doing & identity wormhole: ‘I come from the brow …’
career wormhole: what I am about to say is true / what I just said was a lie
Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche wormhole: 25% scaffolding & rope
circular poem wormhole: may the supreme and precious jewel bodhichitta … // … take birth where it has not yet done so … // … where it has taken birth may it not decrease … // … but may it increase infinitely
distraction wormhole: tag cloud poem V – draft-ness
glasses wormhole: all the while / the flagpole rope / occasionally flaps / the breeze
letting go wormhole: sounds // suddenly / stop
life & society wormhole: they find their life growing together –
looking wormhole: the retriever the daughter and the mother
pointlessness wormhole: letter 080514
reading & realisation & time wormhole: only the Batman realises that he is dead
waves wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
world wormhole: the declensions of constant possibility throughout times
writing wormhole: too cold to sit outside / and write flowers of / individual poems