the raw beginnings.
of a manifesto.
Waiting for a pulse.
Springtime, I know you're there, though my body is still catching up to you.
My skin is aware of the light, while my soul has been stripped to bare bones.
I must tap the well and drink - of the water that Feeds me.
The first drops may not taste so good, or look so pretty.
Against the struggle of its last fighting breaths,
I'm being trained to let go of the polish.
No museums or perfected instruments in glass cases.
No static things, calcified in their completion.
Today, beauty is wobbly things, blemishes, and sour berries that weren't quite ripe for the picking.
Touch my skin with your petals, and kiss these fortunate lips, who know how to come back to life, again and again.
Wring out the clothes of my body and bathe me in the milky glow of your sunshine, with Venus stirred into your cup.
Show me the distraction to end all distractions.
Wouldn't that be something?
I am not splintered in the least, but already singular.
Adrenal arousal dancing with principle. and grace. and fortune.
I Wish to go Gently, into that dark night,
where the fields are not a fight, but the light of a thousand suns,
branding my soul with something far more compelling than the chatter of the mind,
or a nostalgic heart.
Sun, I will meet you in the glory of your Solstice Summer brilliance, throwing my arms back and open, wide,
taking my cues from your central fire. You, who mirror yourself in my human heart.
Kindled and flamed by that which I have eyes to see, I take note, a mere and miraculous passenger.
There is a start to all things.
A point when things crawl out of their familiar darkness into naked freshness.
The bestowal of courage. It has been gifted.
The irony of recognition.
To be the spectacles through which attention streams.
To trust, when there is more to be said, that the words will come.
And when there is not,
The altar has my heart, my life.
And somehow I am my own medicine.
Disdain dissolves through the cracks of ancient misunderstanding.
It was all a grand distortion.
When I finally let it be for me, then -
it can All be for you.
Taurus, sweet moon,
I accept your invitation.