Fields In-waiting

There is a future
In nostalgia.

How else do we write
About
these ancient fields
In-waiting?

the present however,
Is eternally extinct.

no-self

The tailor makes his own suit out of the cloth that comes from another.

So he is in fact wearing the other.

How much of this skin is ours, in this world of us-manufacturing?

This tautology requires us to peel ourselves off, hopefully to find no-self.

The Chanel and iPod Man

Man is a stimulant-driven creature where purpose, beauty and truth show their side headshots every once in a while behind a smolder that is the by-product of our desire to immerse in what we think is life, only to ultimately remain always peripheral to it.

When it is all quiet, without even the whispers of fur, perhaps.

A fish in the sky

A fish in the sky is as absurd and artificial as a suicide aero-plane in haste. Both are spectacles of head-tilting nostalgia. If only grounded flight is ever fanciful, what happens then to sky? I would like to think that she becomes the merciful backdrop that contains this shattered innocence, in spite of her. She has, over centuries, come to understand that her changelings now will forever prefer layers to simply surfaces.

Homage Regarding

regardless, oh godless goddess,
there is much celestial quality to your choreography
that even the clouds choose to serenade
your relinquished throne,
and
whenever the heavens decide to
open upon your rainforest of good
intentions, you are always in full-bloomed mercy.

I can only stand in awe,
and withdraw.