from the screenplay: Survival of the Coolest
Pip, stone, nub
germinating visions
of nobility in no-love,
the fall screaming
for being
to go home,
to go loved
for the gleam of me.
Stoned,
pipped by poppy jism,
mutating the scheme of me,
the scream; my dazzle
obscured for comfort,
for short copy bliss,
unsustainable.
Wandering, squandering,
in one-pointed hell,
lost ecstasy, no light,
no point, nobility in hiding,
until I let go,
lose my grip.
Arriving where I had been,
the bliss, had I known,
had I been, all this time;
knowing the flowing
light of screaming
gleaming got me
here all this time;
here no fear
all this time
the present
and sustainable transcendence.
All this time.
