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Saturday, January 22, 2011

As I do my Yoga



I thought if I rush, it'll all turn to mush.
So I'm not in a hurry, to make my words into curry.

The Self needs a door to a new Metaphor,
Since rhythm's about keeping up time.
Spelling doesn't matter, just makes the Devil madder,
A misspell invokes the Divine.

That's why dear Ben doesn't want you to audit his bank,
You'd find all the stocks that he’s dredged out of the tank!

It would have gone lower if it hadn't been for the Fed,
Who stepped in to buy stocks, from the friends in his bed.

No glitch caused this rout, you can be sure of that
Or a trader in doubt, whose finger got fat.

Who's been nibbling on my fruit?
I have no siblings, nor have I brood.

The death of what's great, or the loss of what's wild,
Reminds us that we're late, to pause for our child.

Tomorrow, I'll live a swing-in' state!
It would be nice to vote, but would be better to date!

I'd set a course around the world,
Without remorse, with sails unfurled.

In light I see your light, In dark I see your dark
I long to hold you, At dawn and at dusk.

A pretty girl will always go far,
Especially curled up in a convertible car!

Selves may be cast like elves,
Only the Self is the way out of Hell.

Your Physics of love, breaks my subatomic Quark,
Strange Up on the Bottom, and the Top has to work!

Patience and curiosity both tend to flee,
But a ration of passion won't go out of fashion!

Sentiment in art, obscures what is true.
I leave my heart in the pavement, without turning it blue.

Let's make our love for twenty-four hours,
Let's make our love for a week!
Let's make our Love in a bed of flowers,
And allow it to make us weak.

Why keep messing with our photos online?
We're kids changing clothes, dressing down all the time.

My writings got black, like ink from oak,
Then I got some sap, from streams of young folk.

As I do my yoga, invoking symmetry.
I'm read to by my ogre, in lines of poetry.

I thought life was simple, but I know it's complicated,
Maybe time got wrinkled, and I'm somehow implicated.

Some say love's inspiration, or inspiration's just dumb work.
They even say that perspiration, makes love a lowly clerk.

Isn't Twitter great? Isn't Twitter sweet?
We're all free to write, but we don't even have to read!

Get a Mohawk, or a Celtic cut,
Or spiky collar to go with your mutt,
Wrap the ends with feathers or beads
Weave in some ancient Peruvian seeds.

They don't teach love in college
They make you read about it.
So the rest of life you barely manage
To take full advantage of it.

Comfort music comfort food,
Some get booze sick, others get stewed.
Take your pick, I’m not in the mood,
I’ll do some yoga, whilst I'm nude!

Just say tantra - think lust and laugh!
On the contrary, tantra's just craft.

What's done in error's not always waste . . .
If made with flair, can remake taste.

Who are you behind that sheet?
With a kiss that's pink, and eyes so sweet . . .

Carve me a leg, or slice up some breast!
Singe off the hair from the hairy guy's chest!
From the hairs on your head, to a lone alligator
It all comes to me dead, sooner or later.
Even the planets I gobble, like black eyed-peas,
I swallow everything, even distant galaxies.

Coffee is tomato’s noble cousin,
A nightshade bean that keeps us buzzin'.

I went out West, I felt an ocean or a sea.
I felt motion in my heart, And felt a presence next to me.

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