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.

 

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