A Stradivarius, Endlessly


A Stradivarius, Endlessly

It’s a beautiful day
If you want to take a walk with me
I’ll tell you where
Real Bhakti Mojo might be found:

I’m riddled in the golden gate
And silver archway westward bound,
I’m nestled in the brilliant Sun
And furthest star they ever found,
I’m nestled in the smallest crack
In the blackest black
Wherever flowers are found,

Loneliness is a disease;
A disease Jesus remembers,
It hasn’t been classified yet
Because scientists still think it’s an emotion,
But like a cancer,
Sometimes it doesn’t go away,

Not with tough love
Not with kind love
Not with pensive, careful
Sensible love,
Not with dynamite love,

There’s no disease worse than being unloved,
Ask anybody, it spreads,

That’s why Mother Teresa of Calcutta was a Saint,
Because she loved
And gave dignity to those
That had none, and had hope for none,
The disdained, the trod upon, the hopeless, the forgotten,

Jesus remembers that kind of love,

Who knows where love is born
Who knows where it goes,
That it’s here is a mystery,
That it’s here is my soul
That it’s here at all
That it’s the weight the heart can’t barter
That it’s the weight the heart can’t bear
That makes us call triumphant lover,
That makes us say, “Here’s my everything”,
And sing, “Ave Maria,”
Even when nobody’s there,
There’s nothing like the smell of fresh silicon
In the morning,
The burning in of the motherboard,
The crackling strawberry dawn
Of elemental circuitry,
Fountaining sparks of jubilantly obedient
Nothings and ones;
A bliss driven shot of the synaptic discourse
Of the wine infinitely human,
Neurotransmissions duly hard wired;
Bonded ganglion’s of languaged energy
Now grown flesh,
Beyond formulaic catastrophic
Chaos innate survival’s theoretical uncertainties,
No muss, no fuss, no bother,
No urge, no kingdom, no nothing, no time,
Just a vibration,
A primordial push,
An endless supernatural whim
Communicated cleanly, notwithstanding,
Oh come all ye
Born again redirected societally correct
Political materialistically
Perfect Mastered trans-relativistic monks;
Super secular humanoid automatons,
Shockless monkey’s trans-glorified
Drama, in ebullient, gloved,
Godless pantomime –
Gilded stallions in amethyst sugarplum
If I exist, if I exist at all;
On the wings of a hundred
And fifty million magical mysterious hummingbirds,
On angel wings augmented snow white dove
Symphonies, sprinkled at random,
From Camelot,
That rain drop
That recognize
That holy name
That palace
That mainline
That catalyst,
That crucify
That mind fuck
That epiphany
That praise lark,
That golden rock,
That Holy Grail
That wine cup,
That moonbeam
That Gethsemane,
Glorious fountains
Of wondrous rung brightnesses
Navaho fabulous shaktiipat symphony
Neoprene bright
Languaged green languaging languaged in energy
Hints of white nothingness dumping up thumpity,
Glory strung under incumbent redundancy
Fingering devas in leprechaun poltergeist
Demagogue, Omaha, frequency, sacrifice
Thinking in hollywood hallowed and honey-light,
Twirling elixirs in strawberry concubine,
Wonderful thundering bumbling rumble bees
Buzzing the moon in abundant redundancies,
A violin,
Though all off all this nothing
And all of this everything –
A Stradivarius, endlessly.

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