Our Ships

Because every thought is either a memory or a desire, the world pulls away on both sides

Because every thought is either a before or a future, the world peals away, my boat sighs.

My total rises tidal-like a temporary cliff

don't fall

Don't fall smell like you remembered it, how you wanted it too

many futures for one ship And so, we have stopped thinking like quit thinking and we like it,

and we forget ahead

Are there some things you would like to say but have not been able to, because no one ever asked you the right questions?

George Russell Reads my Mind and it goes

I don't believe in freedom. I don't think anything like that exists. In the world or in music.

I think there are higher laws, though, and when you move under higher laws you operate under fewer laws thus moving into a state of relative freedom as compared to being under numerous, smaller laws.


And even then, the life of any idea depends on the way it is used because if it's used in the wrong way for too long a time, it may die, totally, even though it may have been born with great energy/freedom

Also,

The jungle is a skyscraper (in a portrait about being

In a portrait I saw of the living sky when I was spying on the living
way up in the rugged electricity of law raising. Freedom
was an idea, which didn't exist, it was snatched toward our tongues like minor greetings,
or lunch money and other adventures scheming to become intuition, so they have a future, they chose a country

Also,

if freedom did exist these songs,
which are places, would disappear into its begging, please be everywhere.

Something Twice as Fast/One for Jon Lucien

Contrast/Quick-Quick-Slow/ Waltz for Soldiers (who) Switched in the Field

When you spot your lover, looking for a vein with cotton on an arm/lung, or turning on the oven or from a profane trembling, becoming numb with pleasure and someone says 'if you wake up now, it won't be too soon,' and you trust them again, enough to buckle beneath the tide which is dense but empty, like the wad of cash he watches back, back-then, and all these rumors, levees in the webs that hold our lips together, tugging at the soon (not-yet) fortresses of shy dandelion binding the breath undone or somewhere else. Everywhere else, because the soft bodies scatter so well, so unlike the wealth and so-on, bypassing the mind so-well like catastrophes or like miracles or cause I felt like it.

Suddenly is gradual

Savoir-Faire/The Acoustics of a Coup P. VIII

Now. the skepticism looks misplaced/Literal Abstractions

His face is an attitude
(about the void)
So when
On a warm day
I feel this sorrow from enjoying it so much..
It disappears to the tune of my bias,
for us --jive-ass--Shucks, I'm flattered by such an exclusive,
gentle, use of nowhere

People In Sorrow